


The Insubordinates

by Stray_Lilly



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bottom!Hyunjin, But there is consensual sex too, Dealing With Loss, Degradation, Domestic Violence, Frottage, Graphic Violence, Grief/Mourning, Infidelity, It starts off a bit slow, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, More tags to be added, Murder, Oral Sex, Paranoia, Rape, Reference to Car Accidents, Rimming, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Stalking, Suspense, Thriller, Top!Chan, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, bottom!minho, major character deaths, paranormal elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stray_Lilly/pseuds/Stray_Lilly
Summary: Sweetwater Community College is not the same. And not just because of the new Chancellor - one that demands obedience and conformity. Both the staff and students are expected to follow increasingly stringent rules. Those that don't, face dire consequences. And being fired or kicked out of the college is the least of their worries when the Chancellor is so fond of unconventional punishments.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Hwang Hyunjin, Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Seungmin/???
Comments: 43
Kudos: 162





	1. Coincidences?

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags before continuing 💗  
> I do not condone anything that happens in this piece of fiction.
> 
> *There is a relationship tag for Seungmin because he does interact sexually with a few characters but the 'relationship' aspect of that interaction is not there.  
> *I'm not sure where this fic is heading so all tags will be updated regularly if need be

Chan hated waiting rooms.

They were gloomy, and even if you entered with a smile, the negative energy seeped into your skin, into your bones, distilling whatever confidence and hope you had, and chilling you from the inside out. The chairs, although cushioned, still felt uncomfortable like they were designed as devices of torture. The air was always cool, even when the windows were shut to keep out the crisp autumn air. It made you hunch your shoulders, and press your knees together as if you were cowering, afraid of what awaited you when your name was called. 

There was a certain etiquette observed in waiting rooms, and although Chan couldn’t remember ever being explicitly taught this etiquette, he had at some point in his thirty-two years learned it. From his experience, he realized that no matter the kind of waiting room – hospital, morgue, real estate office, or the community college where he was now – the rules were the same. He knew not to make conversation with those around him, to mind his own business and flip aimlessly through a random magazine. But he couldn’t help glancing at the man a few chairs away from him.

He looked a bit younger, his strawberry blonde hair slightly dishevelled as he ran his fingers through it for the hundredth time since he turned up thirty minutes ago. He chewed on his lip, his knee bouncing beneath the folder he carried. 

Chan found himself reassuring the man, “It won’t take long, I’m sure.” The Chancellor’s secretary looked up from her desk at the sound of Chan’s voice, raised a brow and then returned to her computer. 

The blonde looked at Chan in surprise. “I dunno, man,” he said. “That woman’s been in there for a while.”

Chan could understand his nerves. He had a lot at stake too. He’d moved all the way to the middle of nowhere with the confidence that he’d already secured the job. But just that morning he’d gotten the call that threatened to ruin the new life he’d barely begun. Apparently, the community college management had an unexpected overhaul in the past week. They now had a new Chancellor who wanted to re-interview the newly hired staff before the start of the new semester. 

The sound of a door slowly creaking open made Chan’s hair stand on end, and he looked past the secretary’s desk, craning his neck to see the elderly woman walking surprisingly fast down the hallway. She clutched her handbag to her chest and had a look of stark terror in her eyes as she left the waiting room. 

“Professor Bang? Chancellor Kim will see you now.” Chan rose to his feet, giving the secretary a firm smile as she pointed him down the hallway. “Last door on the right.”

Chan’s nerves began to act up, because the moment he stepped into the hallway, he felt as though the lights overhead had dimmed considerably, and even though his strides were quick the hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the walls closing in on him like they were going to crush him into a pulp before the Chancellor had a chance to crush his spirit. 

He shook his head at the sudden influx of negativity. Where was it coming from? He’d passed the interview before; there was no reason why he couldn’t do it again. He was qualified for the job, he had experience, and he had good references. This should be an easy in and out kind of interview. 

He inhaled and exhaled, squaring his shoulders and when he looked up, he was surprised to find the gold plate reading, ‘Chancellor Kim’ an inch away from his eyes. The door was open a sliver, but he raised his hand and knocked twice.

“Come in.”

Chan spent a millisecond trying to decipher the Chancellor’s tone before pushing the door open. He started in surprise. The room was cast in almost-darkness. It reminded Chan of the ambience at a restaurant while dining by candlelight, but a candlelit dinner would never make him feel this uneasy.

The blinds were shut so that the only light – a dim yellowish-green light – came from a lamp on the desk. The man sitting behind the polished mahogany desk seemed considerably younger than him. He had chestnut-coloured hair slicked back, and wore a plain grey suit that made him blend in with the walls – wait, hadn’t the walls been covered in purple wallpaper when Chan came in a few weeks ago? He remembered the old Chancellor Hong wearing a bowtie that matched the bright purple room. It was a quirk that amused Chan and had made him immediately take a liking to the old man.

Chan’s gaze swept the room. He didn’t remember the room being so sparse of furniture either; the bookshelves had been removed, the small ornaments all gone, and the desk was free of clutter, save for a small potted plant.

Chancellor Kim stood and extended a hand, his smile growing wider with Chan’s every step closer. There was something unsettling about the grin that stretched across his face, and Chan hoped he couldn’t see or feel his shudder as they shook hands. He racked his brain, wondering whether there was some kind of age requirement that came with the title of Chancellor. There was none that he knew of, but still, it was strange seeing someone so young in that position.

“Professor Bang, please take a seat,” the grin didn’t leave his face as he spoke and he sounded like a TV show host being paid to sound upbeat. “I hope it isn’t much of a bother being interviewed twice.”

Of course it was a bother. But Chan gave him a smile, “Not at all, Chancellor Kim.”

They spent the next few minutes discussing Chan’s qualifications, with the Chancellor murmuring, “Impressive,” every now and then, his smile never slipping, his eyes never leaving Chan’s face. It made Chan feel so uncomfortable that he began to avoid eye contact – bad manners for an interview but he couldn’t stand the Chancellor’s gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

After answering another question, his eyes flickered to the potted plant. The small tufts of flowers were five-pointed, like tiny red stars. The soil was rich and red in color and perhaps Chan shouldn’t have looked there because it induced a bout of nausea. The clumps of red soil reminded him of a brain compressed into mush, soft, mixed with fragments of bone and blood. He felt the familiar compulsion to poke his fingers into the soil, the same urge he’d felt at the morgue, seeing his brother’s barely recognizable shell, the flap of skin peeled away from his scalp to show the slop that was once his brain. Chan felt the urge to squirm in his seat, but dug his fingers into his thighs, willing himself to stay still and professional. 

“What’s your favourite food?”

Chan did a double take. His food preferences were the last thing he expected to be asked about. “Uh…” He took a few seconds to answer, thrown by the question, “I um… I like uh… I eat anything, honestly,” he settled for a diplomatic answer.

For a moment, the Chancellor’s smile slipped. “Oh, _honestly_ ? Let’s be _honest_ then,” there was a mixture of admonishment and sarcasm in his tone. “What’s your favourite? I’m making a few changes to the college cafeteria and I like to know what my staff eat.”

Chan felt as if he was walking into a trap, but he didn’t have a choice. “I like pizza,” he admitted, his answer making him feel like a middle-schooler. Maybe he should’ve thrown a green salad in there too.

“Pizza!” The Chancellor clapped his hands together, his smile widening again. “Everyone just loves pizza, don’t they?”

Chan nodded quickly. “I guess so, yes.” He noticed that the Chancellor hadn’t taken any notes. 

“So why’d you move from the city?” The Chancellor asked, leaning forward slightly, a conspiratorial look in his eyes. “You have good references, so no problem with work. Was it personal?”

Chan stiffened. It _was_ personal, which was why he hadn’t expected to be asked about it in a job interview. 

“Come _on_ , you can tell me,” the Chancellor urged, leaning back in his seat, needlessly straightening his already straight navy and gold striped tie. “Did you do something bad? Or… Did someone do something bad to you?”

“You have my criminal record. It’s clean,” Chan reminded him, unwilling to say more and feeling more apprehensive with each passing second. He made a mental note to pick up a few newspapers on the offhand chance that there might be another well-paying job waiting for him. He’d have to look for a cheaper place to rent too…

“Of course,” the Chancellor considered him with a sly look. “Perfect résumé, perfect criminal record, perfect face. Just perfect, aren’t you, Chan?”

A voice in Chan’s head screamed that this was getting inappropriate. Perfect _face_? Who the hell says that to a prospective employee? 

“Chancellor Kim, if you don’t have any more questions, I’ll just—”

“You have the job,” the Chancellor placed a sheet of paper and a pen in front of Chan, his finger tapping the dotted line. “I know you already signed a contract, but since this is a second interview, it’s only appropriate to have a second contract, right?”

“Oh,” Chan’s shoulders sagged with relief. He had the job. He wouldn’t have to give Hyunjin anymore bad news. And despite his growing unease around the man, he managed to say, “Thank you, Chancellor.”

Having already read through the contract after his first interview, he just signed on the dotted line on which the Chancellor’s finger tapped impatiently. 

“Lovely. I’ll mail you a copy soon,” the Chancellor snatched the contract from his hand with surprising enthusiasm. “Let me walk you to the door.” Chan didn’t see the need for that, but the man was already on his feet. 

“I suppose I should officially say welcome to Sweetwater Community College,” the man beamed, an arm around Chan’s shoulders. _Inappropriate_! The voice in his head screamed at him again. 

“Thank you, Chancellor.”

“Please call me Seungmin.” But surely _that_ was inappropriate? “I must tell you, I’d like to think that my employees will consider me a friend, Channie.”

 _Channie?_ Chan’s stomach knotted. _Highly inappropriate._

The Chancellor – Chan wouldn’t dare call him by his name – opened the door. “You have a good day, alright?” He clapped Chan on the shoulder. Chan hurriedly stepped out into the hallway. “And do be careful on the road. Traffic and all that,” the Chancellor grinned. “Wouldn’t want anything to,” he made a colliding motion with his hands, pressing his fingertips together, “happen.”

Chan froze, his nausea rising up like the waves at high tide. _Just a coincidence_ , he told the voice in his head as he hurried down the hallway. 

Chan was adamant that the Chancellor couldn’t know anything about the accident. And even if he did, he had no reason to taunt Chan about it. As far as anyone knew, Chan was just a normal guy trying to live his life. This was just a coincidence.

But the voice in his head intervened again, reminding him that there was no traffic in this small town, and especially not at 10am. It was no coincidence.

He quickened his steps, not looking back as he left. 

Hyunjin was surprised to find that he’d dozed off. He wasn’t the type to pass out on the couch with messy hair and pajamas and smelly feet – or was it the shoes that were smelly? He couldn’t tell anymore. At first taking an early retirement from work has seemed like the best idea, but now? It was only a week and already, he was lazing around like a pig. 

He yawned and stretched his arms. He didn’t know what had woken him. Not his phone. And the TV was off. For a moment, he stood in the living room and listened. The house wasn’t big – two bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom, a small living room – and that made it all the more easier for the slightest sound from outside to filter in. 

The house was quiet now, save for the distant squeaking of a backyard swing. Hyunjin went into the kitchen and lifted the curtain a fraction, peering through the glass and into the neighbour’s backyard. The kid was there again. He sat on the swing, lifting himself high into the air, back and forth, back and forth. He had his hood pulled up and hanging low over his eyes, the dark shadows hiding his face from the setting sun. Hyunjin watched transfixed, his eyes wide as the boy flew higher and higher into the air, the squeaking intensifying as if the chains were going to come undone. He fought the urge to call out a warning.

The boy riveted his sneakers into the indentations in the ground, coming to a sudden halt, and turned his head to the side, looking directly at Hyunjin. Startled, Hyunjin stumbled backward, letting the curtain fall over the window. 

“What the fuck?” A shiver ran down his spine. 

“What are you doing?”

Hyunjin yelped, clutching a hand to his chest, his heart taking a few seconds to calm down after finding Chan standing in the kitchen doorway. “Jeez, I didn’t even hear you come in!”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re too busy spying on the neighbours,” Chan teased, placing a grocery bag on the table.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “That kid is weird. Seriously. Something’s _wrong_ with him. I’m telling you.”

“He’s a kid,” Chan shrugged, unbothered. “He’s obviously just lonely. You get kids like that.”

“Yeah but…” Hyunjin shook his head, not wanting to get into an argument. They’d gone so long without any of those. “Well, how was it?” He teetered on the balls of his feet, hands clasped together as he waited for an answer. If they moved all the way there for nothing, if they had to go back… They were living off their savings. But that wouldn’t last long.

Chan pressed his lips into a hard line, but his eyes told Hyunjin everything he needed to know. He threw his arms around his boyfriend who hugged him back, the relief radiating off them both. “I’m so happy. I don’t know what we would’ve done if had to go all the way back and…” He saw the guilt reflect in Chan’s eyes, and shut his mouth. Now wasn’t the time. He leaned down and pressed their lips together. “Congrats, babe,” he murmured against Chan’s lips, “again.”

Chan laughed. “Yeah, thanks. Wanna get started on dinner— oh.”

A knock sounded on the front door and Hyunjin exchanged a knowing look with his boyfriend. The residents of Sweetwater were mostly really friendly, stopping by to give them welcoming gifts – baskets of fruit and vegetables, home cooked meals… There were the odd few who didn’t seem too pleased about their relationship, but they stayed away rather than interacted. 

He opened the front door, Chan standing at his shoulder. And they stared… at nothing. “You heard a knock too, right?” Hyunjin glanced at Chan for confirmation and the frown on his face was confirmation enough.

The yard was empty, save for the breeze that swept over the lawn, dry sycamore leaves whipping through the air, painting streaks of orange on the canvas of approaching darkness. The street outside always emptied long before nightfall and not a person was in sight. “Strange,” Chan murmured. He placed a hand on Hyunjin’s back. “C’mon. Aren’t you hungry?”

Hyunjin nodded and began to pull the door closed, until he spotted the yellow envelope on the stoop. “What’s this?” He weighed the A4 envelope in his hand and looked at the sender’s address. “It’s from the college.”

Chan grimaced, taking the envelope from Hyunjin and tearing open the flap. “That was… fast. My work contract…” He pointed at his signature and the date beside it. “I signed this today. They said they’d mail it to me but how could it have reached in an hour? Surely, the mailman doesn’t stop by this late?” He slipped the contract back into the envelope. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“Maybe they have their own delivery system,” Hyunjin shrugged, trying to make sense of it. He craned his neck to see whether anyone was on the street. No one. “Okay, maybe it is kind of strange but… At least we know you’ll be getting paid right on time,” he joked and shut the door, ushering Chan into the kitchen. “So what’s he like? The new Chancellor?” 

“Oh, he’s great. Really professional.”

“That fucking asshole Chancellor,” Minho’s nostrils flared, his fingers clenched tightly around his phone. “How can he do that? Is he _allowed_ to do that?”

On the other end of the line Helene was silent, the clicking of her computer keys making up for her lack of response. The Chancellor seemed to have his administrative staff all working late into the night. “Well,” she finally said, “I’m not sure about the legalities, honestly. But… he asked me to make the arrangements. From Monday, you’re supposed to show the new guy the ropes.”

“I’m supposed to show my replacement how to do my fucking job? He didn’t even discuss this with me, Helene! Fuck, I haven’t even met this new Chancellor yet!” Minho knew he was yelling at the wrong person. The Chancellor had left the dirty work for his secretary. It wasn’t her fault, but still… 

“You’re not being replaced,” Helene insisted, keeping her tone level. “You’ll still be teaching, still a member of staff.”

“But not the Head of the Department,” Minho said bitterly. “I worked my ass off for years to get that promotion and it’s just being taken away for no apparent reason!”

“Maybe he’s just easing your load,” the secretary suggested, sounding unconvinced herself.

“Bullshit,” Minho shook his head. “I’m going to speak to him tomorrow. And show him who the fuck he’s dealing with.”

Helene sighed. “Alright, I’ll pencil you in for an appointment.”

Minho hung up, feeling a mixture of bafflement and anger. What had he done to have that position taken away from him? He was more than qualified for the job, most of his students did well, he received positive evaluations, he never slacked off, had only taken a handful of days off in the past six years… If Chancellor Hong was still around he would’ve never have let this happen. Minho still wondered what had happened to make the Chancellor resign. Well, that was the rumor anyway. That he’d resigned. 

He sighed and peered through the blinds covering the kitchen window. He needed to blow off some steam. The full moon cast a silvery white glow across the face of the mountain behind his cabin. Enough light to go for a run. Up in the mountains there were no lights, save for the ones he’d installed in and around his cabin. He usually counted on the moon to dictate when he could and could not go for a run in the evenings.

He put on some running shoes, and threw on a jacket. It was always cold up there, and the river didn’t do him any favors. The Sweetwater River flowed in an almost perfect circle from the mountain pass all the way around, bordering the town, only disrupted by the community college campus built on the shores of Sweetwater Lake. The only way in and out of town was the causeway built across the river. Minho travelled that way five days a week. 

When he first moved there, he hadn’t minded being so secluded – the seclusion was why he’d bought the cabin anyway. But it did make traveling to and fro a bit difficult. When the weather was particularly bad, the causeway leading into town was impossible to cross, a few vehicles being swept away in the past. But the scenery, the fresh air, the lack of noise, lack of people – that made living away from everyone so worth it.

He jogged along the rocky embankment, careful not to step too close to the edge. He wasn’t fond of heights which made living in the mountains a bit strange, but it wasn’t as if he lived on a peak or anything. It was fine. This was fine. But like always, he couldn’t resist peeking over the edge. Just a peek. A glimpse of the water. The moonlight always transformed it into something beautiful, almost magical. Dark ripples blanketed with a cover of silver. 

But tonight… He slowed to a stop and looked up at the moon hovering above, and then down at the water. The water below was a dark, moving mass. It was as if the light refused to touch the surface. He frowned at the oddity. Probably just some weather anomaly, he reassured himself, unable to think of anything else.

He was about to move on when a flash of something fluttering in the breeze caught his eye. Something purple. It was caught on a rock down below. He crouched as close to the edge of the embankment as he could, fingertips pressing into the stone. A bowtie. He inhaled sharply. A purple bowtie. Chancellor Hong… No, it was a coincidence. Just a coincidence. 

He straightened, eyes following the rippling water where it disappeared into a copse of trees in the distance. The trees cast long shadows along the grey slate, but something else drew Minho’s attention. Another shadow. No, not a shadow. _A person_. Minho was sure of it. He couldn’t make out their features. If only he’d worn his glasses…

The person seemed to be staring right at him. A chill travelled down Minho’s spine, causing him to shudder. He wanted to look away but was too afraid to do so, afraid that if he looked away, whoever it was would somehow cross the watery expanse between them. He inhaled, and with a literal blink of an eye, the person was gone.

No.

There they were again, peering from behind a tree. Then back into hiding. And then out again. What the fuck was this? Some kind of practical joke? It didn’t feel like one. And no one was so bored as to come all the way out there to play a joke on Minho.

But the person continued like this, hiding, poking their head out, hiding, poking their head out, faster and faster until the fear that had paralyzed Minho, rooting him to the spot and forcing him to watch, kicked him into action and he began to back away.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, the lights from his cabin encouraging him to turn on his heel and sprint. But the further away that he got, the more he felt as though someone – or something – was giving chase. In his mind’s eye he could imagine long, sharpened claws reaching out to grab the back of his sweater. Every fearful bone in his body screamed at him to run faster. _Faster than that!_ But Minho had never been one to do as he was told, and he skidded to a halt, almost losing his balance as he whipped around.

But there was no one chasing him. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see whether the person still lingered near the trees. Nothing. No one. Everything was still. Too still. Too quiet. He turned around again and sprinted back to his cabin. 

For the first time in six years, Minho locked the door to his cabin. And still, he felt ill at ease, cowering beneath the bed covers like a little boy. 


	2. Surveillance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to read the tags! 💞  
> Enjoy 💕

Jeongin took his time with breakfast. He slowly spooned soggy Fruit Loops into his mouth, chewing even slower. He wasn’t looking forward to the first day back at college and would do anything to avoid leaving the house sooner than he had to. He could feel his brother watching him over the top of his newspaper. 

But Jeongin feigned ignorance and found himself distracted by a flash of movement outside the kitchen window. The curtains were pulled back allowing him to see that the couple next door were having breakfast at a table set up in their backyard. The one with shoulder length honey blonde hair, the centre of Jeongin’s fantasies for the past week, had perched on his partner’s lap and was feeding him a bite of something. Their open display of affection made Jeongin’s mood plummet further. 

“Make it fast! You’re behaving like a first grader,” Changbin finally lost his patience and folded the newspaper, slapping it against the table. “Will I have to drag you out while you kick and scream like you did back then?”

Jeongin fixed him with an icy stare. “It wasn’t you who dragged me out back then. It was mom and dad.”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded, arms folded across his chest. “Too bad they aren’t here anymore, right? I wonder whose fault that is.”

His spoon fell into the bowl with a splash, and Jeongin clenched his fingers into fists, shaking with anger at the insinuation. It was the first time Changbin had ever placed the blame on him. And maybe it had been his fault… _No_. No, he couldn’t entertain that thought now. “Fuck you, Changbin. That accident wasn’t my fault,” he spat. “The causeway was flooded and they—”

“They went out in the storm to look for you!” Changbin slammed a hand down on the table so hard that the carton of milk toppled, a steady stream of milk pouring onto the tiles. He raised a finger and pointed at him. “And you watch your mouth, Jeongin. Or you’ll end up just like them. Six feet under.”

“Did you just threaten me?” Jeongin rose to his feet, red-faced and gaping at his brother who took a bite out of his toast like they’d just been having a pleasant conversation. Jeongin wasn’t used to this Changbin. All his life, Jeongin had been the black sheep in the family. The weird one who always got into trouble, the one who made Changbin’s life a living hell – trashing his room, stealing his things, pushing him around. And Changbin always tolerated it.

But recently, Changbin had been behaving… strangely. Maybe it was all that stress from work, Jeongin figured. The construction company Changbin worked for had been contracted to help the college out with a few renovations. For the past two weeks Changbin had been working at the college, he’d been leaving home at sunrise and returning well past midnight. And even though they were done working at the college, Changbin had remained on edge, almost… unhinged. He was a changed person. A few weeks ago he would’ve never lost his temper with Jeongin, would have never threatened to – to… Did he really threaten to kill him? It had to have been an empty threat. But the look of pure hatred in Changbin’s eyes told Jeongin otherwise. 

Changbin clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a second, his mechanical chewing coming to a stop. He swallowed and looked up at Jeongin, and surprisingly, whatever menace had been in his gaze previously was gone. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Let’s just – just start this day over. I just thought that since it’s your second year and your results weren’t that great last year—”

“Wow, that’s your idea of starting the day over?” Jeongin scoffed, downing his glass of orange juice in one go and wishing it was something stronger. Despite Changbin’s ‘no alcohol rule’ Jeongin had his ways of procuring things – he was an adult for fuck’s sake. 

“I was only worried that you’ll be late for your first lecture. It’s a 7:45, right?”

Jeongin cocked his head to the side, instantly suspicious. “And how would you fucking know that? You been snooping around my things?” This raised a whole bunch of new concerns for Jeongin. There were things he didn’t want his brother seeing.

Changbin sighed wearily, lowering his eyes. There. That was the older brother Jeongin knew. “That email the college sent me,” he muttered. “It had a link to your timetable.”

“What email?” He didn’t even think that the college would have any of Changbin’s details. A sharp cry of laughter made him glance out of the window again. The dark haired man was on his feet, dressed in an immaculate suit. It was the first time Jeongin had seen him in something other than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The man leaned down to kiss the blonde. A slow, passionate kiss as if they couldn’t bear being parted from each other. A lie. Had to be.

“It came through last night,” Changbin said and Jeongin turned his attention back to his brother. Changbin squared his shoulders and pressed two fingers over each eyelid, forcing them shut for a few seconds. Jeongin watched, wondering whether he had another headache. He’d seen Changbin taking painkillers every now and then, whining about constant headaches.

When Changbin opened his eyes again, it was like a shadow had passed over them, darkening his expression. “They believe that as your older brother, I have some stake in your academic performance. And…” his lips lifted into a cunning smile. “I have to agree. It’s time things changed. About time they enforced some rules around there.”

Jeongin narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you and fuck that dumb college,” he muttered. Since when was Changbin so invested in what went on at college? He was an adult. Jeongin used _his_ share of his parents’ insurance money to pay for his tuition. No one had a right to police him in any way. He slung his bag over his shoulder and started towards the door.

And he was wrenched back with a force. Changbin slammed him against the wall, the impact winding him and sending a jolt of pain downward from his shoulders. “Changbin, what the hell are you—”

Changbin grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved his face against the window. “Wanna be just like him, don’t you?” He didn’t have to specify who for Jeongin to know. “Successful, with that hot blonde riding your dick every night. Am I right?”

He flipped Jeongin around so that his back was against the wall again. Jeongin felt an explosion of pain as Changbin drove his knee into his groin. He slid down onto the floor, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent cry. 

“Go to college,” Changbin said, seating himself at the table again. “Maybe then you’ll get what you want. And feel free to use the car today.”

Jeongin lifted a hand and used the window ledge as leverage to hoist himself up. A brief, jolting slash of agony flared from his testicles to his stomach as the muscles that met at his crotch were strained. After a minute on his feet and a few deep breaths, the pain began to recede enough for him to sling his bag over his shoulder and leave. 

He limped across the yard, unable to process what the fuck had happened back there. Changbin… hurt him? Jeongin was supposed to be the troublesome one, getting into fights, coming home with a busted lip and bruised knuckles. Changbin had never even raised his voice at Jeongin before, let alone his fist. The other more pressing problem was that Changbin seemed to know things about Jeongin, about what he wanted, about _who_ he wanted. Maybe he’d seen the polaroid. But Jeongin had kept it hidden away. There was no way he could’ve found that.

Jeongin was halfway across the yard, before he realized that the blonde from next door was waving goodbye to his partner who’d just jumped into their car. Jeongin wondered if he should approach him now. No. Not like this. Another time.

Jeongin had been working up the nerve to talk to him for over a week now. Ever since he found the polaroid on his bedroom floor. It was obvious that it had been slipped in through his window. But Jeongin was a wuss. He didn’t know how to strike up a conversation with anyone, let alone someone that hot. But he reminded himself that the blonde was _obviously_ interested in him. Why else would he have given Jeongin a polaroid of himself posing nude?

Jeongin jumped into the car and wondered whether he should just take a detour. Go somewhere else and chill, de-stress. He’d memorized his dealer’s number and his thumb now hovered over the call button. About to give in, he flinched when his phone buzzed and an email popped up on screen.

_Dear Valued Student,_

_Students are kindly reminded to familiarize themselves with the college’s policies, rules and regulations contained in the college code of conduct. But if you’re too fucking lazy, here’s a summary of Rule 13a: Attendance is compulsory._

_Infringements of the college code of conduct will result in disciplinary measures being taken._

_Strikes remaining: 2_

_Seungmin Kim_

_Chancellor of Sweetwater Community College_

Jeongin blanched at the email. He whispered a soft mantra of, “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…” The first thing he did was look around, trying to see whether anyone was watching him. But even that wouldn’t make any sense. He’d only been _thinking_ of skipping the first class! _Thinking_! He looked at the email again, stunned not only be the assertion but by the crude choice of words. 

Even it was all some chance occurrence that they’d sent _that_ email at _that_ moment, what did they mean by disciplinary measures? And strikes remaining? Why was he being treated like a three year old? He sighed and turned the key in the ignition, heading towards the campus if only to find out what the fuck was happening.

Minho was one of the select few who actually looked forward to the first day back. As a professor for the past six years, he knew that the students would still be in holiday mode when they got back to college. Students tended to miss each other more than they missed learning. They were rowdy and hard to bring to attention which meant that for most of the professors, not a lot would get done in their classes. But Minho relished that challenge. He took it upon himself to excite his students, make them look forward to the semester.

But as soon as he stepped onto the campus he knew that this semester, something at Sweetwater Community College was different. 

He noticed the subdued mood as he walked through the campus. Sure, there were a few cheery smiles, the usual laughter and hugging, kissing… But while some students stood in groups, their faces seemed sombre, eyes glazed over. He shuddered at the lack of emotion in their voices when they spoke. He bumped into a student he’d taught for two consecutive years. “Good morning, Alice,” he greeted her with a smile.

The student seemed taken aback at being addressed by him. She pursed her lips and shot him a derisive look before stalking off. Her companion shrugged his shoulders and gave Minho an apologetic smile before rushing after her. Well, then… Minho shrugged and trudged along to his office. He still had an hour before he’d have to put on a smile and show his replacement around.

The four professors in the English Department all had their offices on the third floor of the administration building. The elevator was still out of order, despite the college’s claim that they’d been renovating. After trudging up five flights of stairs, he unlocked his office, and closed the door behind him, heading straight for the windows to let in some fresh air. When he’d first moved into the office he’d been ecstatic that he had such a good view of Sweetwater Lake. But since then, he’d grown somewhat uneasy about the lake. It was like a navy blanket, the water too still, not a ripple in sight. There were several students on the embankment below, none of them aware that their conversations carried up even to the fifth floor. Minho had heard his fair share of things he wished he could unhear. 

A knock sounded on the door and Minho pulled away from the window, his shoulders tensing. He knew who it was. He opened the door, letting Jisung saunter in with that omnipresent don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. 

“Jisung…” he began, but already the student had locked the door behind him, striding towards Minho. With Jisung’s body pressed against his, caging him against the desk, Minho reminded him with some difficulty, “We said we wouldn’t—”

“ _You_ said,” Jisung argued, his lips hovering over Minho’s. “But I disagree… professor. I missed you.” He nuzzled his face into Minho’s neck. Minho hated how good it felt, how much more he craved, how his hands were already looped around Jisung’s neck. “Why’d you say that, huh?” Jisung questioned, running his tongue over Minho’s lips. “Why would you want to end this?”

“Because it’s a mistake,” Minho said, coming to his senses and pushing him away. He put some needed distance between them. When Jisung first walked into his class almost a year ago and took a seat in the front row, the attraction between them had been shamefully immediate. And Minho had avoided him like the plague. He may have been an adult but he was still a student. But of course when Jisung came into his office for a seemingly harmless consultation about his project, Minho fell down the rabbit hole. Just a kiss, Jisung had said. But both of them had known it wouldn’t stop there. 

“A mistake?” Jisung threw his head back, obnoxious laughter bouncing off the walls. “Meeting every day at 7:25 in your office for four semesters was a mistake? Really?”

Minho sighed. “A well-arranged mistake,” he conceded. “Look, I just think that this,” he indicated the space between them, “is a danger to both you and me. You’re my student, Jisung. I don’t want to lose my job any more than I want you getting kicked out of college.” He didn’t want to explain how these things actually went – usually it was the professor who took the fall while the student walked away scot-free. He liked Jisung. A lot. But he loved his job more.

“Just one more time,” Jisung said beseechingly, his voice small, lips pulled into a pout. “One more.” He was already crossing the space between them. Jisung captured his lips into a kiss. And one more time wouldn’t really hurt, Minho convinced himself. He began to unbuckle Jisung’s belt, fumbling with the zipper. He was overcome with a sudden, urgent need to have Jisung inside him. “Just fuck me,” he breathed, not knowing where this animalistic desire came from. 

With Jisung’s cock buried to the hilt inside him, Minho curled his fingers over the edge of the desk, letting out a strangled cry. He waited for that first wave of pleasure as Jisung began to move, but it never came like it did every other time. Jisung was thrusting into him without a care, each thrust harsher than the first. Minho wasn’t getting anything out of it, but somehow… he still wanted it? It was like a switch had been flipped on, and he questioned whether he truly wanted this. The desire was like a physical thing that someone had reached into his body and placed inside him – a key twisting into a lock. And that was when he realized, it shouldn’t have gotten that far at all. It hadn’t felt right since Jisung walked into his office fifteen minutes ago and it didn’t feel right now. 

“Jis-ung,” Minho panted, “w-wait, this—”

“You want me,” Jisung leaned over, and whispered, his voice hoarse. “You want me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Minho replied immediately without thinking. Without thinking? What the fuck? No. He wasn’t some mindless whore who couldn’t think past the dick buried in their ass. He didn’t want Jisung. Not now. “No,” he breathed. “No, get off me.” He pushed himself up, and Jisung grunted in surprise. There was a moment of panic where Minho wondered whether Jisung would keep going, but he relaxed when he felt the student pull out. Student. His student. Minho felt the shame wash over him as it always did after Jisung pulled out of him. If there were feelings involved maybe he would’ve thought differently…

Neither of them said anything to each other as they dressed. And when Jisung had dropped down into an armchair by the bookshelf, Minho painfully sat down in the chair at his desk, rubbing the sore spots on his shoulders where Jisung had gripped him too hard. He’d never been this rough before, even when Minho had asked for it. Attempting to distract himself from the pain in his lower half – no, actually the pain was everywhere – he powered on his computer, heading straight for his email. There were a few from students and some staff notices. He ignored the emails from students panicking about their exam scores, and clicked on the latest staff notice, sent just a minute ago.

_Dear Valued Staff Member,_

_Staff members are kindly reminded to familiarize themselves with the college’s policies, rules and regulations contained in the college code of conduct. But if you’re too sore, here’s a summary of Rule 22e: Don’t fuck your students._

_Infringements of the college code of conduct will result in disciplinary measures being taken._

_Strikes remaining: 2_

_Seungmin Kim_

_Chancellor of Sweetwater Community College_

Minho swallowed down a startled cry as he read and re-read the email. Finally in a rush of panic, he pointed at the door. “Get out,” he said to Jisung. “Get out right now!” He felt furious at the student as if it was all his fault. No, Minho knew that very little of the blame rested with Jisung. It was Minho who sabotaged his own job with this fruitless thing he had going with a student. A _student_! What had he been thinking?!

“Jisung, you need to leave right now,” Minho rose unsteadily to his feet, gripping the desk for support. 

Jisung was on his feet too but he seemed… lost. He stood stoically, his expression vacant, gaze sweeping around the room like he didn’t know where he was. Finally, without even giving Minho a glance, he unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway.

 _What’s wrong with him?_ Minho furrowed his brows, jaw hanging slightly as Jisung walked away. Why had Minho risked everything for him? For _sex_? He’d been so prepared to end it and then…

But the larger concern was the email. All this talk of discipline, and the unprofessionalism with which the email had been drafted… What kind of Chancellor spoke that way to his staff? And how had the Chancellor found out. Did he hear them? Were there cameras in Minho’s office? The thought terrified him. But that wasn’t even legal, was it? 

This Chancellor scared Minho and he’d been yet to meet the man! This was ridiculous. If Minho had broken rules, so had the Chancellor by watching him through whatever sickening means he’d made possible. He couldn’t make allegations without proof. And Minho wasn’t going to let that go.

With difficulty, he made it up to the eighth floor, practically pulling himself up the stairs, still sore from – from Jisung. Fuck. It still confused the hell out of him. Jisung wasn’t like himself. And Minho forced himself to abandon some of his anger at the student’s apathetic behaviour, replacing that anger with concern.

“Is he here?” Minho stopped at Helene’s desk and jerked his head toward the hallway.

The secretary looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Please present either a staff, student or visitor pass.” Minho frowned, waiting for her to crack a smile but her face remained impassive. 

“Are you serious?”

Her response was the same, “Please present either a staff, student or visitor pass.” She gave no inclination that they’d known each other for six years.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Helene, come on. You said you pencilled me in for an 11am appointment with the Chancellor. And I know it’s not even 8am yet, but this is an emergency.”

The secretary stared, unmoved. “An emergency, you say?” Her brows rose. “I assume you know where the medical office is? And the security office?”

“Seriously?” Minho deadpanned. “This isn’t a joke. I need to see the Chancellor _now_.”

“Well, then,” the secretary grit her teeth, as if Minho was the one being ridiculous, “present your fucking card.”

Minho’s jaw dropped. What the hell? “I… I didn’t – it’s in my office with the rest of my things.” And he sure as hell wasn’t going back down because of this bitch. He made a split second decision, and strode past the secretary’s desk, ignoring her calls for him to come back. 

He stepped into the hallway, and immediately regretted it. The lack of light made it impossible to see the Chancellor’s door that he knew would be at the end of the hallway. He could’ve sworn that it hadn’t been this dark before he stepped in. The fluorescent bars of light running across the ceiling flickered, the flashes of white cutting through the darkness like bolts of lightning. Minho’s head began to throb, an ache spreading from the centre through to his temples. Why did the hallway seem so long? 

He took a few hesitant steps forward, his body going rigid at the sound of a creaking door. His heart began to thump against his chest, and he almost wished that the secretary had come after him. Why hadn’t she? He glanced over his shoulder but there was no sign of movement from the lobby, and the light seemed so… far away. When he looked forward again, his breath hitched, a scream caught in his throat at the towering silhouette at the end of the hallway. The shape was human but its body was twisted at an awkward angle, one leg facing forward and the other… The other was twisted around at the knee. One raised arm bent at the elbow, hung over the head, the other hanging limply at its side. The fingers tapered into claw-like points which quivered as if the – the _thing_ had no control over them. 

Minho took gasping breaths, but that was a mistake because the smell of rot made him retch. He began to stagger backward, but the light suddenly flared, blinding him for a few seconds, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. And when he opened them, he had to blink a few times to adjust. The hallway was… normal. Empty. Daylight illuminated the closed door at the end.

Minho shook his head. Was he going crazy? He hadn’t just imagined all of that. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t delusional _. He wasn’t crazy_. He saw what he saw. He saw… What the fuck did he just see?

The Chancellor’s door opened and he let out the shriek that had been lodged in his throat. But the man that looked back at him was fairly normal. No, not normal. He _looked_ normal – hair slicked back, dressed in a plain grey suit, navy and gold tie – but something about him just didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the smile that stretched across his face, inexplicably wide.

This time, Minho didn’t think; he turned on his heel, wanting to put as much distance between himself and that man. But even as he pushed the lobby doors open, a whisper as cold as ice and as soft as the breeze, followed him.

 _I’m watching you,_ it said, _always watching you_.


	3. First Impressions

It was like something had burrowed deep into Felix’s skull and wrapped itself around his brain, poking and prodding where it didn’t belong, filling his mind with a voice and words he couldn’t decipher, with the darkest secrets of those around him and cruel, ugly thoughts. He kept digging his fingers into his skull, a lame attempt to wrench out the thing that was consuming him, but the only thing that came away were strands of hair which he tried to discreetly flick away. The thing that spoke to him only grew louder when he tried to shut out the voice, and eventually, he found himself spiralling, acquiescing control. A wave of freezing water washed over him, filling his lungs, blocking his airways, filling his mouth with the taste of salt, his throat clogged with sludge. 

_Give in to the madness_ , the voice told him. So he did. 

Jeongin watched partly in disgust, partly in morbid fascination as the professor paced the length of the platform, eyes scanning row upon row of students that were arranged in a tiered semi-circle around him. Walking into the lecture theatre the professor had at first seemed quite normal, almost jovial. The lecture theatre seemed to swallow the small-framed man whole as he’d climbed the stairs to stand upon the platform. His outfit – a radish-colored suit with a black tie – was a poor attempt at professionalism, and Jeongin would have taken a liking to him just because of that, if the man’s demeanor hadn’t changed so quickly.

Half an hour ago, Professor Felix Lee had begun with a concise introduction about himself – nothing that Jeongin already hadn’t found with a simple google search. Jeongin knew that the professor had recently obtained his PhD and had spent a year researching primates in their natural habitat. The one piece of new information that the professor did share was that he had felt too isolated, too lonely, on his research expeditions and had apparently decided that lecturing students at a community college in the middle of nowhere would be a better fit for him. The professor had gone on to explain what would be expected from them in biology for this semester. And that’s when the change happened. It was like some kind of switch had been flipped. 

Now the man spoke in whispered mutterings and barely coherent snarls as he paced like a predator selecting its prey. Jeongin scrunched up his face in revulsion as the professor repeatedly ran his hands through his strawberry blonde hair, fingers clawing at his skull, ripping out strands and discarding them at his feet. 

“The fuck is wrong with him?” Jeongin asked no one in particular, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at the students seated around him, glad that at least a _few_ of them seemed as shocked as he was. But the rest… There were some who were impassive and unresponsive, while others had strangely gleeful expressions on their faces, as if they understood perfectly well what was happening and relished it, wanted to be a part of it.

Jeongin decided that he wasn’t going to stick around for whatever this was. Glad that he’d chosen the end seat in the very last row, he rose to his feet and instantly, sixty-odd heads turned in his direction. Jeongin froze, his stomach lurching at the sight of all those faces staring at him. One face in particular had twisted itself into a venomous rage, eyes blazing like hot coals. The professor stiffly marched towards him, taking the stairs two at a time, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, gaze never leaving Jeongin’s face. Jeongin had half a mind to take a defensive stance, and half a mind to flee from the man fast approaching him.

The latter option seemed more apt so Jeongin hastily made a beeline for the exit. When he burst through the glass double doors, he breathed a sigh of relief, inhaling the fresh air and tilting his face up towards the warm sun. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Jeongin gasped and spun around, his eyes widening at the sight of the professor just a few feet away. He hadn’t even heard the man following behind him. Instinctively, he backed away. It felt stupid, really. Was he actually afraid of this – this man? _Man_ seemed like a far stretch for the animalistic, alarmingly enraged look on his face. There was just something about his presence, about the way his eyes darkened, and that snarl that made Jeongin cower.

“That’s right, boy,” the professor drawled, his strides quickening. “You _should_ be afraid.”

“I – I’m not,” Jeongin argued, surprised by the evident fear in his own voice. He stood rooted to the ground, his hands plastered to his sides like a child about to receive a punishment.

And then the professor was upon him like a beast with its prey cornered. He backed Jeongin up against a stone pillar. His skin stretched tightly over the bone structure of his face, like a covering that didn’t quite fit. Jeongin could see something fluid moving beneath the man’s skin and for a fleeting moment he worried that the man’s skin was going to rip open and something was about to burst through. “No one leaves without my permission,” the man hissed, his breath cold against Jeongin’s ear. “Not even you, Jeongin. “ Jeongin balked at the sensation of something firm pressing against his thigh, and lowered his gaze a fraction.

“You fucking creep!” The gross violation seemed to have released Jeongin from his paralysis because he raised his hands and gave the professor a firm push away from him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

The professor simply laughed it off, shaking his head from side to side like he hadn’t just been pressing his erection into Jeongin’s thigh. “What?” he asked mockingly. “I can give you a practice round before you get into your neighbour’s bed.”

Jeongin froze, his mouth going dry. There was no way this man could know – it was impossible! “Look,” he began, feeling a mixture of mortification and anger, “I don’t know what you _think_ you know but —”

“Oh, I know everything,” the professor barked out a humourless laugh, advancing towards him again. Jeongin began to brace himself, fear gripping him. But the man suddenly halted, narrowed his eyes, his head snapping to the side. And a second later, someone rounded the corner. 

Chan turned on the spot trying to get a grasp on his surroundings. He was so sure that he’d be able to find his way around the campus by then, or at least find his way to the administration building. But he was lost. He still had a few hours before his first class so that was fine, but he was supposed to be meeting someone from the English Department and he was already ten minutes late. 

He rounded the corner of another domed building, yet another lecture theatre, and probably a distance away from where he actually needed to be. He came to a stop and pulled his lower lip between his teeth. Maybe there was someone inside he could ask for help. He started towards the doors but stopped in his tracks, startled to see what seemed like a standoff between a student and a professor. Both stared at him, equally surprised by his intrusion. And upon closer inspection, he realized that both the student and professor were familiar to him.

He recognized the professor from the waiting room when he’d been called for that second interview. The man had been a nervous wreck and Chan had tried reassuring him. The interview had obviously gone well for him because there he was, but… Chan could feel the anger radiating off him, could see it etched into his features. And the student, the kid who lived next door to Chan, the one Hyunjin was so freaked out by, seemed scared out of his wits, an expression of terror written on his face. When neither one of them made any move to acknowledge Chan, he felt a dire compulsion to de-escalate the situation.

“Well, it’s great to see a few people around,” Chan chuckled. “The campus seems a bit empty today. And I’m actually very lost,” he plastered an apologetic smile onto his face. “Can either of you direct me to the admin building? Or, better yet, can anyone come with me? I’m afraid I don’t follow directions too well.”

The professor straightened and gave Chan a tight-lipped smile. When he spoke, the words sounded almost like he had to force them from his throat, “Unfortunately, I have a class to teach, so please excuse me.” Without giving either of them a glance, the man turned on his heel and pushed through the glass doors. 

“You’re a long way from the admin building.”

Chan turned his gaze to the young student, surprised to see an almost hostile look on his face. Troubled kid. “Well, unless you’re going in there,” he gestured to the doors, “mind showing me where it is?”

The student’s hesitancy was clear, and the silence between them morphed into something beyond awkward. But just when Chan was about to release the student from his request, he nodded. “Sure.” 

Chan tried several times to start a conversation with him while they walked across the courtyard but only received clipped responses that reinforced the silence between them. “Looked like you were in quite a situation back there,” he said as a last ditch effort, because neither of them had mentioned that fact. “With your, uh, professor?” When silence followed, he added, “I hope you’re not missing anything important in class.”

He was surprised at the soft sigh that filled the silence and when the student spoke it was more to himself than Chan, “Biology isn’t even my major. I could take another class but… I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to change. I hate this shit.”

Oh. He studied the student carefully. There may be a fence separating their houses but he always heard the chaos next door. The shouting, the vulgar words… Chan felt a pang of sympathy for him. “Maybe you can—”

“This is it.”

Chan followed his gaze towards the building looming ahead and nodded, “Thanks.” He offered him a smile and extended his hand. “I’m Chan, by the way. Figured we should at least be on first name basis considering we’re neighbours. Right?”

“Jeongin.” The student stared suspiciously at Chan’s hand before briefly grasping it. 

Chan was about to leave it at that but his conscience had sway over him. “Hey,” he called just as Jeongin had begun to turn around. The kid looked at him questioningly. “If you want I could pull a few strings and get you into my class. Literature.”

He could see the cogs turning in Jeongin’s mind. Eventually, he nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay.”

He wasn’t a bad kid, Chan realized. Just a bit messed up. “You should come by for dinner some time,” he told Jeongin. “You and your…” He didn’t actually know much about his neighbors.

“Brother.”

“Yeah,” Chan nodded. It made sense, two brothers who didn’t get along. He’d been there once too. “You and your brother. Or just you. Whatever suits you, okay?”

Jeongin lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug and turned away. Chan watched him leave with a heavy heart. The hopelessness on the kid’s face reminded him so much of the ghost he’d been running from. He shook his head and fixed his gaze on the admin building. “Third floor,” he whispered, reminding himself of his destination.

Chan checked the nameplates on the doors as he strode down the carpeted hallway. When he found the one he’d been looking for – _Professor Minho Lee,_ the nameplate read, _Head of the English Department_ – he knocked softly. The door creaked open and he realized that it hadn’t been shut properly. He waited for some kind of acknowledgment, a cough or the shuffling of papers, or just a “come in”. But there was nothing. He worried at his lip, and unable to contain his curiosity, he peered through the gap. 

A man – presumably Professor Lee, his supposed campus tour guide – was hunched over his desk, seemingly asleep. Asleep or…? Chan felt a surge of panic, suddenly on edge. It was past 8am – why would he be asleep? Surely something was wrong. He knocked one more time for good measure and walked in when the professor remained unresponsive. 

He’d only taken a few steps when he realized that the professor’s soft breaths were audible. He was definitely alive. Chan breathed a sigh of relief, and suddenly felt as if he was intruding. He was about to leave when he noticed the dregs of an amber liquid in a glass on the desk. And beside it, a bottle of painkillers. Now, Chan really wasn’t one to judge but this was… The professor had to have been having a pretty shitty morning to be popping pills and drinking alcohol at this hour, and on the first day of the semester. 

He inhaled, catching the faint perfume of whiskey in the air along with something else. He furrowed his brow, trying to place the smell. Salt, dampness… It was as if the room had been drenched in salted water and left to dry. He looked down at the tan carpet that covered the floor, surprised to see a single set of wet footprints at the centre of the room, like someone had just stepped out of the shower. How strange. There were no other prints. A finger of ice trailed down Chan’s spine, and he suddenly felt the pressing need to get out of the office. 

He started to turn around but caught sight of the open window. It afforded a magnificent view of the lake. Ah, the lake! Sweetwater Lake was a saltwater lake. He’d read all about it after he and Hyunjin had chosen the town in their haste to escape from – from everything, really.

Anyway, that explained the smell but… he looked at the footprints again and frowned. He hated things that were out of place, things that didn’t made sense.

“What the hell are you doing in my office?”

Chan started in surprise, taken aback by the wide-eyed man who looked equal parts embarrassed and equal parts furious. Chan fumbled for an explanation, “Um… I was just—”

“What are you doing in my office?” Professor Lee asked again. His voice was laced with suspicion and Chan didn’t blame him. But this wasn’t Chan’s fault either.

“Look, I was supposed to meet you at 8am. Your door was open and I – I mean, of course I was worried.” It seemed to dawn on Professor Lee then, and he flushed crimson, his eyes flickering to the pill bottle and the whiskey glass. His humiliation was evident and Chan immediately felt sorry for him. He cleared his throat, “I’m sure I can find my way around campus. I… I hope the rest of your day is better than your morning.” 

Chan stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him, and taking a deep breath. That hadn’t gone according to plan. He was usually quick to befriend his co-workers. This time… He knew he’d embarrassed the professor and he hadn’t meant to. Maybe he should’ve apologised—

The door flew open and a panic stricken Professor Lee stepped out of his office. “Please don’t file a report about me.”

Oh... Chan shook his head, “I wasn’t going to. Really, I wouldn’t.” Chan wasn’t the asshole he’d probably made himself out to be back there. “I get it. You’re having a rough morning. We all have those.”

The professor’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he held out a hand. “I'm Minho.”

Minho knew he probably sounded like a bumbling idiot to Chan, trying to explain the assessment criteria and curriculum while still trying to get a grasp on the fuzziness in his head. He didn’t really remember much of what led to him waking up and finding Chan in his office. 

He knew that he’d seen Jisung, that he’d seemed off somehow, and then… Then he received that threatening email from the Chancellor. And he’d gone up to see the Chancellor, hadn’t he? But he couldn’t remember anything from that point onwards. Had he even spoken to Chancellor Kim? Why couldn’t he remember? 

It probably had something to do with the painkillers he’d taken. There was also the question of the whiskey which most certainly didn’t belong to Minho. Unlike a few of his colleagues, he never kept alcohol in his office. But then who did it belong to?

“…do you think?”

“Huh?” Minho blinked up at Chan, confused. Great. He really wasn’t making a good first impression, not that it mattered so much. But this was the man who was going to be taking over the department from Minho. He didn’t want it to seem as though he was losing the position because he was incompetent. But fuck, he felt really incompetent right then. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t… I’m just…” He didn’t even have an excuse. 

“It’s fine,” Chan waved away his apology with a sympathetic smile. “You’re not feeling well, I can tell.”

Yep. Minho felt like shit. He wanted to go home but this was the first day back and he had things to do, students to teach, papers to file… And he needed to know who had been drinking whiskey in his office while he was asleep. 

“I was just wondering,” Chan went on, “whether it would be alright to add another student to one of my classes? I know registrations are already done but…” 

Minho shrugged, wondering which student already had Chan’s favour. He’d only just arrived. “It won’t be a problem,” he admitted. “It happens all the time. Who’s the student?”

“His name is Jeongin.”

Minho blanched, hoping Chan wasn’t thinking of the same Jeongin that had made Minho’s life a misery last year. “You don’t mean Jeongin Y., do you?”

"Jeongin Y.?"Chan brushed a stray curl away from his face and frowned, “I actually don’t know. We’re neighbours so I thought I could do him a favour. Is there a problem?”

“No,” Minho pressed his lips together, shaking his head from side to side. “If we’re not talking about the same Jeongin then there’s no problem. Had a Jeongin in my class last year. And he had quite a temper. Broke into my office, trashed the place. I didn’t even report him though.”

“Why not?”

Minho sighed, “I’m too kind for my own good, sometimes. Had a soft spot for him. His family…” he trailed off, not wanting to elaborate on one of the town’s greatest tragedies. “You can accept whoever you want into your class,” he nodded. “Just… be careful.”

  
  



	4. In the Throes of Grief

If you had to ask Hyunjin what grief meant to him, he would have called it a leech. An unwanted presence that sucked the life out of him, that devoured any happiness that dared make itself visible. Grief was ever-present; when he slept, when he woke up, when he lay staring at the ceiling, when he had a conversation with someone, when he tried to have a conversation with himself, when he tried to digest his food, when he breathed. He’d tried to burn off the grief like he would have done with a leech, with one fake smile at a time, with every forced laugh, with every feigned moan when Chan fucked him. But pretending to be happy didn’t make him happy. It did nothing to repel the grief. And worse than grief? The guilt that came with grieving _secretly_. 

But he did this to himself. Like every fucked up situation Hyunjin ever ended up in, it was always his fault. He did this. 

“It hurts,” he said out loud. Because there was no one home but himself to hear it. “It hurts so much,” he told himself. Because there was no way he would ever tell Chan. He always reminded himself that Chan’s grief was a million times worse than his own, but that wasn’t always what Hyunjin believed. Sometimes it felt like Hyunjin was the only one grieving. Sometimes it felt like Chan had moved on already, like he’d moved them into this little town and his grief had disappeared as soon as they’d passed that old signboard.

_Good for him_ , Hyunjin thought, feeling only slightly bitter about it. Chan deserved to be happy. Hyunjin on the other hand—

The sound of rubber and steel screeching against asphalt jolted Hyunjin out of his thoughts just in time to hear the deafening BANG! A strangled sound – something between a whimper and the beginnings of a scream – was dredged from his throat, and he began to tremble, digging his untrimmed nails into the fabric of the couch when that odious smell of smoke and blood wafted beneath his nostrils. 

_An accident._

_There’s been an accident just outside._

_An accident._

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

_Hyunjin, are you alright?_

_Lucky. That one got lucky._

_The other one’s dead._

_An accident – did you hear, Hyunjin?_

_Dead._

_There’s been an accident._

“There’s been an accident,” he whispered at the realization, his cheeks already wet. He unsteadily rose to his feet, forgetting the shoebox he had on his lap. The contents cluttered to the floor and although the carpet muffled the noise, he winced. He stepped over the objects and dreaded every step he took towards the window. 

His hand violently shook as he lifted the curtain, and he let out a startled cry. _Nothing_. There was nothing there. The street was clear, most residents at work or school. No cars. No accidents. 

He examined his reflection in the window as if he could find the mark of a disease, anything that could offer some kind of explanation. He asked his reflection, “What’s wrong with me?”

It wasn’t his reflection that answered, but a cruel whisper that drifted from the darkest corner of his mind. _You don’t have a disease, Hyunjin,_ it said, _you_ are _the disease._

The chime of the doorbell only registered when the final notes rang through the air. With wide eyes, his gaze flickered to the foyer, and back to the candy-striped shoebox and its contents strewn on the floor. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I’ll be there in a minute!” he shouted. 

He gathered all his toys into the box and closed the lid, shoving the box under the coffee table. He was halfway across the living room when he remembered the plug he’d chosen from the box. The plug now on the couch he’d vacated. He swore again and because he was in a hurry, he simply threw the plug behind one of the cushions. 

He wasn’t expecting any visitors. But this was the kind of town where your neighbours just popped in to say hello and drop off a pie. He couldn’t decide whether that was annoying or endearing. 

He used the back of his sleeve to wipe the tears off his face, using a bit of saliva to clean whatever tear streaks were left behind. He came to a stop at the door, pressing an eye to the peephole. He’d never seen this man before. Handsome, well-dressed, professional-looking. A salesman, maybe?

He unlocked the door but didn’t slide the chain back, peering at the man through the gap. “Hello?”

The man broke into a grin that stretched over his face, somehow not so much handsome as he was menacing now. “You are... Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin stiffened, a prickly feeling on his skin causing his hair to stand on end. Something wasn’t right. He even took a small step away from the door. “Yes?”

The man’s smile didn’t falter even as he spoke. “Well, I’m Seungmin Kim, Chancellor of Sweetwater Community College.”

Hyunjin loosed a breath at that and opened the door fully. The man was from the college. Well, that wasn’t so bad – no, wait. Why the fuck was the Chancellor standing on his doorstep? “What can I do for you, Chancellor? Is something the matter?” he asked. A million awful scenarios ran through his mind, all ending with Chan in a body-bag. 

“I take the wellbeing of my staff very seriously,” Chancellor Kim told him, his tone firm and professional despite the unsettling grin. “And that means making sure that they have a stable home environment, and,” his eyes darkened, “supportive families.”

“Uh… oh, okay,” Hyunjin blinked several times, trying to recall whether he’d ever heard of any boss – least of all a Chancellor – going this far to take care of their staff.

“Maybe I can come in for a cup of coffee?”

As he led the Chancellor to the living room, Hyunjin became increasingly aware of his own dishevelled state. Unwashed hair, dirty clothes… Was this going to affect the Chancellor’s impression of Chan? He hoped not.

He waved the Chancellor over to an armchair, and mumbled that he’d be back with his coffee. But the Chancellor stopped him with a raised hand, “Take your time with that coffee. I’m going to have a look around.”

“You… what?” Hyunjin’s brows drew together. That couldn’t be right, could it?

“You weren’t listening,” Chancellor Kim pursed his lips in disapproval. “I can’t make sure that Chan has a stable home environment if I don’t inspect the home.” And to Hyunjin’s surprise, he retrieved a clipboard from the inside of his suit jacket – how had Hyunjin not noticed that?–and began to scribble on a form, his eyes flickering up to Hyunjin every now and then. Hyunjin gaped, more so when the Chancellor simply waved him away and proceeded down the hallway.

From the kitchen, Hyunjin put the kettle on, hoping the noise would mask his phone call with Chan. But of course, he’d known that Chan answering the phone at work was a slim possibility. All he could do was hope that the Chancellor finished his ‘inspection’ soon. He considered calling the police, but if this was all official university business that Chan had agreed to and just forgotten to mention, Hyunjin would end up being the idiot. 

Twenty-two minutes later – Hyunjin knew this because he kept an eye on the clock – Chancellor Kim emerged from the bathroom, eyes fixed on the clipboard as he scribbled. Hyunjin bit down on his lip, becoming increasingly worried. As fucking strange as this inspection was, it might be important for Chan. If he was fired, what happened then? Where could they go? They didn’t have enough money to fall back on, didn’t have anything left. They put everything into this move, into this house.

“Well,” the Chancellor said and Hyunjin rose from the couch, “I have a lot to analyse, a lot to think on.” Hyunjin arched his brows at that. How much could someone have possibly gleaned from walking around a nearly bare house, unpacked boxes still waiting for their owners’ attention? It sounded like bullshit. 

“Your coffee,” Hyunjin fixed a smile on his face and gestured to the mug, no longer steaming. He hoped the Chancellor liked cold coffee. 

“No need,” the Chancellor’s lips twitched as if enjoying a private joke. “I think I’m fed and watered enough.” He tucked the clipboard back into his suit jacket which miraculously remained without a crease. Hyunjin walked him to the door, and the Chancellor lingered on the doorstep. “Do expect another inspection soon.” And to Hyunjin’s disgust, the Chancellor’s gaze made a slow appraisal of him, from head to toe. “It seems there’s a lot still remaining to see.”

Now, Hyunjin understood _attraction_ – understood that if his hair had been washed and brushed, the roots not grown out so much that it made his hair looked two-tone, if he was wearing something other than a much too big sweatshirt with a large yellow curry stain down the front, and a pair of sweatpants with a tear halfway down the left leg, if he didn’t smell so bad, he would have understood if the man had been attracted to him.

But he knew that type. The type that _wanted_ without the attraction being present. It was an animalistic want, the kind that liked to possess, to own, to ruin, to take for the sake of taking. And it made his empty stomach churn and fold in on itself, his gut twisting. Sick. It made Hyunjin sick. 

From the living room window, he tried to catch a glimpse of the man as he left. But there was no sign of him. No sign of a car, and Hyunjin hadn’t heard the sound of an engine either. It was as if the Chancellor had simply vanished. But that was ridiculous. Wasn’t it?

He tried to remember what he’d been doing before the Chancellor arrived – ah! The shoebox… He retrieved it from under the coffee table and even managed a chuckle when he remembered the plug he’d tossed beneath the cushion. He’d wanted to try today, try something – _anything_ – to make himself feel good. To make himself _feel_. Maybe another time.

But when he lifted the cushion, he had to question whether the events of this morning had been completely imagined. One big hallucination. One big fucked up hallucination. The plug wasn’t there, and he’d been so sure… But the shoebox was where he left it. Had he just misplaced the plug? No. He was _sure_. It had been right there. But just to make sure, he slipped his fingers into the crevices of the couch; all he found were dried crumbs and dust balls.

If he hadn’t hallucinated everything, there was only one other logical conclusion. But what the fuck would the Chancellor want with his plug? Then Hyunjin remembered the perverted way the Chancellor had looked at him. No, he wouldn’t put it past him at all.

He tried calling Chan again, only to for the call to go straight to voicemail. A few seconds too late, he realized that he’d forgotten to disconnect the call and his long sigh had been recorded. Oh, well. 

He slumped down into the couch, closing his eyes against the headache that had begun to batter him at full force. But his eyes flew open at the strong scent of salty dampness that hung in the air when he inhaled. He couldn’t pinpoint the source, but it was there. Water and salt. 

That wretched whisper said to him, _Maybe it’s the scent of your tears._

Chan was surprised to find the voice message from Hyunjin and listened immediately. Only, there hadn’t been anything except for a tired sigh. Had he dialled by mistake? He frowned at the phone and decided that he’d call Hyunjin as soon as he grabbed something from the cafeteria. The grumble from his stomach wouldn’t allow him to skip lunch and he only had around forty minutes left before he had another class.

From the outside, the cafeteria looked like it had been converted from some kind of workshop, big blocked yellow letters spelling out CAFETERIA hanging above the door. The windows were covered with blinds so he definitely wasn’t expecting the ruckus that awaited him.

There was no set lunch time as students had varying schedules, but it looked like more than half the college was crammed into the cafeteria. Benches were crammed and the food on the tables… They could rival one of those fancy buffet style restaurants. He gawked at the students stuffing their faces, only a few here and there who looked bewildered, some repulsed. He wondered whether this was a normal occurrence or some kind of first day back feast.

There were around twelve people in the line when he joined but it seemed to be moving pretty fast, the two men behind the counters getting meals out of the kitchen at lightning speed. He stared at someone who walked past, pulling apart a large lobster with their teeth. “What the hell.” The person in front of him turned around with a raised eyebrow, lips forming a reluctant smile at the sight of Chan. “Minho,” Chan said in manner of greeting, “didn’t realize you were having lunch right now.”

“I hadn’t expected to see you here either,” Minho jerked a shoulder in response. “If I knew, I’d have invited you along.” He seemed surprised and slightly embarrassed by that admission, because he looked away. 

Chan smiled. Maybe he’d be able to make friends after all. “Is this normal?” he indicated the chaos in the cafeteria. The amalgamation of a hundred different smells made him feel a bit queasy now.

Minho slowly shook his head from side to side as he surveyed the mess. “I don’t even know how they have the budget for any of this,” he told Chan. “And I just heard that we don’t have to pay a cent.”

Chan blinked, recalling the lobster he’d seen minutes ago. “It’s _free_?”

“Yep,” Minho looked just as puzzled. “Usually we have to beg for a decent meal, and top of that, we’d get grossly overcharged. Looks like the staff here are new too.”

“Maybe it’s the new management,” Chan said, the thought of the creepy Chancellor not helping his nausea.

Apparently, Minho shared the sentiment because something like fear crossed his face and Chan could’ve sworn he saw a shudder. Before he could question it, it was their turn.

“Please present either a staff or student card,” both of the men clad in chef whites said simultaneously. Chan would have laughed if Minho didn’t look so nervous. This probably wasn’t a normal thing either. 

Only when the men disappeared through a doorway that led into what Chan assumed was the kitchen, did he realize that they hadn’t asked what they wanted to order. Strange.

And _strange_ didn’t describe half of what Chan felt when he saw the large slice of pepperoni pizza in a paper bag, and a bottle of pineapple juice. He glanced at Minho whose jaw had dropped at the sight of his own lunch – sashimi. “How – how did you know?” Minho asked the man who’d served him. “This is my favourite.” But two youngsters had already stepped up to the counter, handing over their cards to the servers who disappeared into the kitchen again.

Chan gave Minho a quizzical look. “Weren’t you asked what your favourite food is? It’s something the Chancellor asked me during my interview.”

Minho raised his brows. “Yeah, but I wasn’t interviewed by him. I’m a returning staff member. How could they possibly have known?”

Chan didn’t have an answer for him. Come to think of it, he’d told the Chancellor that his favourite food was pizza but he hadn’t said anything about pepperoni. He hadn’t mentioned pineapple juice either. So how’d they know? Coincidence?

Minho came to a halt on the landing between the first and second floor, Chan almost crashing into him. He leaned against the polished banister and cocked his head to the side, studying the man beside him, "You alright?"

Minho frowned at the window overlooking the courtyard and then looked at Chan, "It's just so weird."

Chan could think of a number of things that he'd label as weird in this college. Even the students were... mostly unresponsive. Like empty vessels seated in front of him. There was the general atmosphere of the place too – subdued, gloomy – more like a prison than a college. Maybe it's just how things were done in this town, but it was definitely weird. And because he wasn't sure which of these things Minho was talking about, and because the professor was still frozen in place, Chan asked, "What's weird?"

Minho lifted his unopened box of sashimi and his grape soda. "This. We don't have the budget. We can barely afford new books for the library or desks that aren't falling apart. I don't get it."

"Maybe there's some kind of sponsor?" Chan suggested.

But Minho gave him a skeptical look. "I'm going to see Shawe. He should be able to tell me something."

"Who?" Chan followed behind him as Minho trudged up the next set of stairs. "The Chief Financial Officer?" 

Minho snorted, "The CFO, like the rest of the college board, is an oldie who prefers spending his time in the confines of his mansion. But Shawe is the next best thing we've in the finance department. He'll know what's up. Doesn’t miss a day of work too."

At Chan's previous college, each department had its own cluster of buildings, but he supposed that at a small college like this it was normal for all the administration departments to be squashed onto one floor. Minho led him down an unlit narrow hallway on the second floor. 

They stopped at the third door on the right and Minho lifted a fist, poised to knock, but Chan caught hold of his wrist. "Wait." Minho frowned at him, his brows furrowed. "Look at nameplate," Chan urged him, his blood running cold at the name stamped across. 

_FINANCE:_

_SEUNGMIN KIM_

Minho lowered his hand, jaw hanging open as he gaped. "I don't – I don't understand how..." He looked at Chan who shrugged in response. "Is this even allowed?" The clicking of a stapler could be heard from behind the door.

Minho was already moving down the hallway. "Student Archives is just a few doors down," he muttered. "Beth will know what happened to Shawe. The old woman knows everything. She’s been here for ages."

But when they reached the door in question, both could only stare in confusion at the nameplate.

_STUDENT ARCHIVES:_

_SEUNGMIN KIM_

A chill began to creep up Chan's spine. He could have sworn he heard a murmured voice behind the door as if someone was on the phone. But how could the Chancellor be in two places at once?

They were only left more confounded as they examined the nameplates on the rest of the office doors. _Seungmin, Seungmin, Seungmin_... He'd made himself in charge of everything related to the running of the college. 

"So – so he just fired all these people?" Minho wondered out loud, leaning against the door of an old storeroom. Chan listened to him ramble, trying and failing to come up with an explanation of his own. "That can't be legal. None of this can possibly be legal. I think I'm—" He froze, taking a slow step away from the closet. 

"What is it?" Chan straightened. 

"There's something..." Minho stared at the door and pressed his ear to the wood. He beckoned to Chan who did the same. 

He could hear it now. Pen on paper. No, pencil. A familiar sound, yet one that Chan hadn't heard in a while. _Sketching_.

In his mind’s eye he could picture the young man sprawled on the lower bunk bed, lip pulled between his teeth, creating masterpieces with a few strokes of his pencil. Chan would leave a glass of water and some snacks beside him even though he knew nothing could break his concentration. Sometimes Chan would hover, sometimes he would grow tired and leave, sometimes he was the subject of the sketch. 

He shut his eyes, smile forming on his lips as the sound began to lull him, each stroke of the pencil like fingers stroking through his hair. Comfort. Home. And loss.

He shuddered at the memory of his loss, swaying slightly on his feet. It was this momentary bout of dizziness that made him open his eyes, recalling where he was. Minho was still beside him, eyes wide and fixed on the ground.

No, not on the ground.

Chan saw it too. From the thin gap between the door and the carpeted floor, a streak of white appeared. A scratchy sound filled the air as a sheet of paper was slowly pushed through the gap and into the hallway. 

Minho took a step back, pressing himself against the wall. Chan stood rooted to the spot, wondering whether to retrieve the sheet of paper or open the door. He raised a hand to the dull metal door handle, glancing at Minho who shook his head from side to side, mouthing, ‘Don’t do it.’

“It’s okay,” he reassured the man before he wrenched the door open. 

Chan had expected to see a student, or another staff member – as crazy as it would seem for a staff member to be sitting inside a storeroom and sketching pictures. But what really chilled him to the core, was opening the door and finding absolutely nothing except a few old shelves full of cleaning supplies. 

“What the fuck,” Minho whispered behind him. 

“What the fuck, indeed,” Chan said, backing away and using a foot to push the door shut. He didn’t want to be in the general vicinity of this storeroom anymore, let alone actually touch the door.

With the door shut, both Chan and Minho fixed their eyes on the sheet of paper. It looked like a blank page but he could see lines pressing through from the other side. He swiped it off the floor, turning it over in his hand. 

The sketch didn’t mean anything to him. But it was beautifully done. It could have been done by… No, _he_ was dead. A little house on a mountain range with tall peaks. A forest below and a river too. “Do you recognize this?” he asked Minho, handing him the sketch.

Minho’s whimper startled him, and the professor dropped his box of sashimi onto the floor. He took the sketch with trembling hands and looked up at Chan with terrified eyes, “This is my cabin.”

“Are you sure? It could be any—”

“I’m sure. The details… It’s my cabin.” Despite his obvious fear, Minho sounded resolute and Chan believed him. Even if this whole thing made no sense. 

“We should leave,” Minho said, already heading down the hallway, his arms wrapped around himself.

Chan followed, albeit slightly reluctantly. He looked at the slices of fish and upturned box that they were leaving behind on the floor. Usually he would’ve stopped to clean up, but nah… There was no fucking way he was staying there a minute longer.

He only had five minutes until his next class but he walked Minho up to his office anyway. He could see how shaken the man was and he didn’t blame him. “Are we going to talk about what just happened?” he asked, leaning in the doorway.

Minho perched on his desk and gave a quick jerk of the head. “I don’t want to.”

Chan nodded, “Completely understandable.” He placed his uneaten slice of pizza on Minho’s desk. “You dropped your food.” And when Minho began to protest, Chan said, “I have a class now anyway. I’ll just grab something later.”

Minho stared at him for a long five seconds before nodding. “Thank you.”

Chan grabbed a post-it from the stack on Minho’s desk and scribbled his number. “If you feel up to talking about the – the – whatever the hell happened…”

He was almost out of the door when Minho said, “I thought you were going to be some kind of stuck up old man.”

Chan’s lips twitched, “Glad to prove you wrong, Professor Lee. You can look forward to a lot more of that.”

Minho’s snort followed him down the hallway. Somehow, the normalcy of such a moment dulled the impact of the strange occurrence that they’d witnessed a few minutes ago. Dulled, but not enough to stop the sound of sketching from implanting itself in his brain, and the depth of his loss to pull him under again.

Hyunjin didn’t need to tell Chan what happened, he decided. He didn’t need to tell Chan that he’d barricaded himself in the bedroom after the Chancellor’s visit. He’d also debated not mentioning the Chancellor’s visit, but he was curious about that. 

So, casually in the middle of dinner – Thai takeaway that Chan had picked up because neither of them had yet mastered the art of cooking – Hyunjin said, “Your Chancellor stopped by. Chancellor Kim."

“I – _what_?” Chan dropped his fork, brows drawing together. 

“Chancellor Kim stopped by,” Hyunjin repeated, already gathering that Chan hadn’t been aware of the visit, “for some kind of home inspection. I tried calling you.” 

He explained the details of the inspection, but Chan blinked a few times and shook his head, “That doesn’t – I mean why would he personally go door to door? You’re mistaken. I’m sure he sent one of the other staff members. And Hyunjin, come on, you can’t just let strangers into the house.”

Hyunjin bristled and he had to clench his jaw to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. He took a deep breath and reminded Chan, “I said I tried calling you. What was I supposed to do? Slam the door shut on the Chancellor’s face? I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

And Chan really had the nerve to roll his eyes, “I told you. It couldn’t have been the Chancellor.” But even as he said that, something dark crossed his expression, and Hyunjin had a feeling that Chan had secrets of his own. 

“Chan—”

“You’re being so stupid right now.”

“I’m being _stupid_?” Hyunjin looked at him incredulously. “Why? Because I don’t have a college degree? Because I’m not a professor?” The questions tumbled out of his mouth, his insecurities laid bare for Chan. And he didn’t even care anymore. “Go to hell,” he mumbled, rising out of his chair and heading for the refuge of the shower. 

He’d only been inside for two minutes when the door slid back and Chan stepped inside. Hyunjin knew how this would go. Chan would begin his apology with a kiss, slow and soft, and then more fierce, more urgent. He would wait, holding Hyunjin, giving him time to either accept or deny that apology. And Hyunjin would forgive Chan anything. He would do anything to lessen his own guilt. Even a self-inflicted punishment. So Hyunjin would fall to his knees, jaw hanging, waiting for Chan’s cock. A punishment, but Chan was too ignorant to see it for what it was. 

Hyunjin felt fingers in his hair, tugs of encouragement, and listened to soft-spoken words, whispers of passion that blended with the hiss of water. He remembered those days when he had enjoyed this. He’d loved extracting those noises from Chan, the little hitches of breath and half stifled groans. He had loved those delicate, strong fingers. He’d loved taking Chan’s cock. He’d even loved the taste of his release – bitter, powerful, masculine. Making love, they’d called it then. Now it was just sex. 

It wasn’t that Hyunjin didn’t love Chan anymore. The love was there, just buried in the chasm that had opened up between them. Buried but there. They would have to dig deep before they found it again. And neither of them seemed to be ready for that. 

Chan began to thrust more rapidly, hips snapping forward. There was a pain in his uvula as the cock pounded, hammering in. If Hyunjin didn’t deserve it, he would have moved away, asked Chan to stop. But he deserved every bit of this. So he loosened his jaw and let Chan use him. He could ravage Hyunjin, fuck his face, take him against any surface, use him in any way he wanted. 

Not even words were coming now, just suppressed grunts, clenched growls, hisses of fast breaths seething through a face drawn up in agonizing pleasure. And Hyunjin looked up to see that ecstasy on Chan’s face. 

“I love you,” Chan told him, his thumb catching the cum that dribbled out of Hyunjin’s mouth. 

Hyunjin rested his head against Chan’s thigh, “I love you too.”

The words felt empty.   
  



	5. The Uninvited Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi 💞

“How was work?”

Chan got home to the same question every day, the same forced smile, the same heartbroken man who tried to pretend that Chan could fill in the cracks of his heart. So Chan pretended that he could too.

“I didn’t pick up anything for dinner,” Chan said in response, avoiding having to untruthfully answer the question. He hung up his coat and turned to Hyunjin who stood stoically, staring into space beside the open door. Chan pushed the door closed and the loud click brought Hyunjin back into the conversation. 

“Sorry, what was that?”

Chan forced a smile of his own. “What would you like for dinner? We can order in.”

The sound of Hyunjin’s murmured agreement was drowned out by six consecutive beeps from Chan’s phone. He clenched his jaw in annoyance, knowing exactly what those emails were and who they were from. 

It had been two weeks since Chan had started working at Sweetwater Community College. Every day, no matter what time he got home, the emails would arrive as soon as he stepped into the house. Sometimes the emails were reminders about upcoming tests that he’d have to organize, sometimes they were reminders about marking procedure and how to grade assignments fairly as well what punitive measures to take for underperforming students. There was absolutely no need to remind the staff about these things _every single day_ , yet the emails persisted, signed off by Chancellor Kim. 

After Chan’s experience on his first day he’d hoped that everything at the college would miraculously improve – the dull, almost lifeless students, the heavy blanket of dread that settled over the campus, the strange uniformity with which most the staff and students behaved. But it had all remained the same. At least – he told himself this to soothe his nerves – it hadn’t gotten worse. 

“What should we order?” Hyunjin said leading the way into the kitchen where a mountain of takeaway booklets lay on the counter. 

Chan grimaced, “Anything except pizza.” He’d been forced to eat pizza for lunch every day, and even a kid would’ve gotten sick of pepperoni pizza after a few days. Both Chan and Minho had tried speaking to the cafeteria workers, practically _begging_ for something different, but they were simply ignored. Both professors had resorted to swapping their lunches every second day, which lessoned their suffering but still… “No sashimi too, please.”

“How about—”

The sound of glass breaking made them flinch. The neighbours _again_. Chan pursed his lips. They were becoming accustomed to the yelling, the sound of objects hitting the walls and breaking, but it worried him all the same. 

Jeongin was only in one of Chan’s classes but he’d seen how withdrawn the young man was. Not unresponsive like the other students, but closed off and disturbed. Chan had also tried talking to him a few times but Jeongin had taken on a hostile stance, as if he suspected Chan’s motives. It was concerning.

“You know what?” he looked at Hyunjin. “Let’s order extra food and invite Jeongin over for dinner. I meant to a while ago.”

“Jeongin?” Hyunjin’s eyes grew wide. “The – the weird kid from next door?” He looked appalled at the suggestion.

Chan rolled his eyes. “You haven’t even met him. I told you, he just has a few issues. I don’t understand why you dislike him so much.”

“I know he’s your student but I don’t want him here.”

Chan clenched his jaw in irritation. “Hyun—”

“He freaks me out, okay?” Hyunjin wrapped his arms around himself.

“And you’re just being dramatic,” Chan shook his head. Hyunjin had a constant craving for attention and a flare for dramatics. Strangely enough, that used to be something he adored about Hyunjin when they first met. He would crave attention and turn bashful when Chan gave it to him. How could Chan have resisted that? “I’m going over to invite him for dinner.” He gestured to the booklet in Hyunjin’s hand. “Order something.”

He rang the doorbell and waited with his hands clasped behind his back. The door swung open after a few seconds revealing a man with dark shaggy hair. Chan had only previously caught glimpses of the man. “Hello,” the man drawled with a voice like gravel and a small grin. “Nice to finally meet you, neighbour.”

Chan smiled awkwardly and held out a hand. “Chan.”

“Changbin,” the man grasped his hand jovially. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh…” Chan hesitated, peering over Changbin’s shoulder but seeing no sign of Jeongin. “I was actually hoping to invite Jeongin over for dinner. You see, he’s a student of mine, and I told him I’d invite him—”

“Is it appropriate to have your students over for dinner?” Changbin’s grin had morphed into a scowl, his arms folded, and Chan blanched at the implication of his words. 

“It’s really not like that—”

Changbin erupted into laughter. “Just joking. You should’ve seen your face.” Chan blinked in surprise and shook his head at yet another change in the man’s demeanor. Changbin looked over his shoulder and bellowed, “Jeongin haul your ass over here!”

Footsteps padded over the floorboard and Jeongin appeared at Changbin’s shoulder. A fresh two inch-long cut sat just below his left eye. Chan stiffened, doing a quick onceover of the young man, assessing for any other injuries. Unable to find any, he looked Jeongin in the eye, avoiding Changbin’s gaze completely. “Come on over for dinner.” Not a question, not a request, not a suggestion. This was Chan saying, _I’m here and I see what’s going on and I want to help you._

With bated breath, he waited, counting the seconds as Jeongin’s jaw worked, a reply pending. Finally – and to Chan’s relief – Jeongin bowed his head in acquiescence. “Ye—”

But before the word could leave his lips, Changbin smiled, “Of course we’ll join you.” He reached out and slapped Chan’s shoulder as if they were buddies.

Chan clenched his fingers into fists and forced himself to look at Changbin. “Actually, I was asking Jeongin.”

Changbin held his gaze, his own eyes lit up by the challenge, his head slightly cocked to the side, his lip curling. “I think I deserve to know what my little brother is doing at his professor’s house late at night.”

This time, Chan ignored the jibe. “Jeongin is an adult. He can make decisions for himself.”

“Ah,” Changbin clicked his tongue, and turned his head to look at his brother. “But you want me to come with you, don’t you? It’s either I go with you, or you’re not comfortable going at all, right?”

Jeongin’s jaw trembled slightly, and he lowered his gaze unable to maintain eye contact with Changbin. To Chan’s dismay, he nodded. “Yes.”

Fuck.

With slumped shoulders and Changbin’s reassurance that they’d come over soon, he returned home. Hyunjin was in one of his moods too. He refused to look at Chan as he set the table in the small dining area they’d created in the living room. 

“Jeongin and his brother Changbin are coming over.”

“Great.”

“What did you order?” Chan loosened his tie, trying and failing to catch Hyunjin’s eye, long, greasy blonde locks of hair aiding him in shielding his face from view.

“Food.”

Chan frowned, “Now you’re just being childish.”

“Am I?” Hyunjin looked up at him now, lips parted, chest heaving with visible anger. “Is that what you fucking think? Is that why you never take anything I say seriously?”

Chan ran his fingers through his hair, gripping the ends in frustration. “You’re really upset because I invited a kid over for dinner? Hyunjin if you only knew what he was going through—”

“This isn’t about _him_ !” Hyunjin yelled, a fistful of cutlery tumbling onto the table. Chan stared, surprised by the outburst. “This is about _me_ ! What about what _I’m_ going through?”

“Yeah,” Chan laughed blandly. He should’ve known the conversation would lead there – Hyunjin playing victim. Again. “Of course it’s about you. Everything’s always about you. You’re so selfish.” He shook his head and turned away. “I’ll be in the shower.”

“I hate you.”

Chan paused, closing his eyes at the tremble in Hyunjin’s voice. If he turned around, he’d see tears streaming down his face. This was how it always went since the accident. _I hate you, I love you, I hate you, I love you, leave, stay, leave, stay, back and forth, back and forth._ He didn’t turn around. “I hate me too, Hyunjin.”

Minho slipped out of bed, almost ending up back in bed after he lost his footing. He leaned against the wall for support as he slipped his fluffy white bedroom slippers on, and released a deep sigh, as if his two hour nap had been more of an effort than a relief from the stress he went to bed with.

On most days he left work with a throbbing head. It was the workload, he told himself. Although that couldn’t be true. Chan had lessened the burden significantly. Maybe Minho didn’t want to admit that just walking through campus put him on edge, that worry gnawed at him like a dog on a bone. Sometimes it seemed as if he was waiting for something to happen, something inevitable. But he didn’t know what it was. It was like knowing that a book was going to end but being unable to check how many pages were left. Frustration and fear gripped him, leaving him feeling heavy and stricken. 

Unbidden, a thought entered his mind. _All is not right in Sweetwater_. Or Minho was losing his mind.

He took a step towards the hallway, pausing when he spotted the crumpled ball of paper. He could’ve sworn he finally decided to throw that in the trash instead of ruminating over it every day like a madman. And he had, hadn’t he? He’d thrown it out when he got home, he was sure. Except it was there, lying on the threshold of his bedroom. Waiting for him. So he hadn’t thrown it out then.

He picked up the crumpled ball and began to unfold it. The main source of his stress. A stupid sketch. Neither Minho nor Chan had brought up the sketch and the eerie circumstances upon which they’d come across it. Minho could still remember the sound of pencil on paper, the way his hair had stood on end when he saw the sheet of paper being slid beneath the door, and the shock of seeing the sketch of his cabin. From the pot plant that swung over his porch to the missing plank near the bottom of the stairs, the details were unmistakable.

The only plausible explanation for the sketch that Minho could come up with was that it was some kind of prank. But who would do such a thing? Who knew that he lived in this cabin? How did they even do it? And who would go through so much trouble just to scare him out of his wits? He’d tried reasoning it out with Chan, but the other professor had seemed content to dodge the topic and pretend that it never happened at all. Minho had even suspected Chan of being responsible for the sketch, but he didn’t seem like that kind of guy. He was nice and polite and… handsome. 

A flush colored Minho’s cheeks. Handsome had nothing to do with it. He shouldn’t even be thinking about his colleague in that way. He was in enough shit because of his bad decisions.

After the Chancellor’s warning email, and receiving his first strike, Minho had gotten himself into trouble again because he’d become annoyed with all the futile reminders being emailed to him. He’d simply sent them all straight to junk mail. And a day later, he received a _text_ stating that he’d received his second strike.

_Staff members are kindly reminded to familiarize themselves with the college’s policies, rules and regulations contained in the college code of conduct. That includes Rule 84e: Acknowledge the Chancellor when he uses his precious time to email you._

_Infringements of the college code of conduct will result in disciplinary measures being taken._

_Strikes remaining: 1_

_Seungmin Kim_

_Chancellor of Sweetwater Community College_

Minho hadn’t even been aware that there were that many rules and had downloaded a copy of the college handbook to skim over, but he hadn’t really gotten to it yet. Maybe before he went to bed.

Realizing that he was still holding the sketch, he prepared to crumple it again, but something caught his eye. The trees surrounding his cabin had been sketched to perfection. And when he looked closely – closer than he’d dared to look before – between two of those trees was a pair of eyes. A claw of fear raked down Minho’s spine as he recalled the night before his first day back at work. The face he’d seen peering at him from behind a tree, the fear he’d felt when he thought he was being chased.

He spun on the spot, his gaze sweeping the room as if that – that _person_ was hiding in the shadows of his bedroom. He shuddered and on impulse, he began to tear the sketch into tiny shreds of paper. There. He looked at the mess at his feet. It was gone now. But it didn’t make breathing any easier.

A strong gust of wind battered the kitchen windows, their frames rattling. After six years these sounds had simply become a part of the background, barely acknowledged by Minho. But recently he just couldn’t help but feel slightly wary every time he heard something outside. Was something wrong with him? When did he become so paranoid? Maybe he needed a break. Maybe he needed to leave Sweetwater for a little while. Or a long while. Or permanently. 

On the counter, Minho opened his old translated copy of Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ , absentmindedly stirring his cup of coffee as he poured over the notes he’d promised to lend Chan for a class next week. To rein in his wandering mind he fixated on a few lines, repeatedly reading them aloud to drown out the noise in his head.

“ _How often my petitions were repelled;_

_how often she replied: 'I save myself_

_for one alone; wherever he may be,_

_it's he who'll share my joy!' Could any man_

_whose mind was not awry have failed to see_

_in that, firm proof of her fidelity?_

_But I was still not satisfied. I kept_

_insisting (harming only my own self);_

_for just one night, I promised countless wealth;_

_and then I added gift on gift – until_

_I forced her to the point where she might fall_.”

He paused his recitation when a knock sounded on the front door.

Minho stared at the man standing on his porch. Was he dreaming? He had to be dreaming. 

Jisung was drenched in water, his body shivering. “Please.” The word left his lips in a whisper barely heard above the wind. 

Minho wanted to fire a barrage of questions at him. What was he doing there? How did he find the cabin? Why did it look as if he’d been swimming in his jeans and hoodie? But he stepped aside, gesturing for Jisung to come in.

Minho had barely begun to shut the door behind them when Jisung sank to his knees and began to sob. “Minho, help me,” he said through his tears. “Help me, please.”

Chan had expected dinner to be awkward and uncomfortable. He was only half-correct.

Changbin seemed to be in good spirits, cracking jokes that had first bordered on inappropriate and then jumped well over that border. “I mean,” he laughed breathlessly, spittle flying from his lips, “did you hear the way he talks?” He continued mocking the grocery store clerk, waving a chicken leg around carelessly.

Chan rested his chin on his hand, jaw clenched in revulsion as Hyunjin joined in again, his laughs mingling with Changbin’s. “What an idiot,” Hyunjin laughed beside Changbin, shaking his head as he took another sip of wine, his lips stained red. Chan hadn’t seen Hyunjin that animated in a long time. He should have been happy, but jealousy broiled in his gut. He hated feeling this way, but it wasn’t his fault – he knew that much.

“But he’s a nice guy,” Chan intervened, cringing at the silence that his interruption had wrought. “He’s always polite. I can’t say the same for a few others in this town.” He held Changbin’s gaze as he spoke, trying to get his point across. 

Changbin’s smile faded and he turned his gaze to Hyunjin. “Is your boyfriend always this much of a buzz-kill?”

Chan didn’t feel offended. Instead, he straightened, waiting for Hyunjin’s response. 

Hyunjin looked Chan in the eye when he said, “Oh, Channie is always uptight. Perfect little bitch. Can’t take a joke.”

Changbin snorted, slapping a hand down on the table and throwing his head back as he bellowed a laugh. “Perfect little bitch,” he repeated after Hyunjin. 

Chan hung his head, burning with embarrassment. He dug his fingers into his thighs, trying to control his breathing. How could Hyunjin just…? 

“Maybe we should go home. It’s late.” Jeongin looked up for the first time since he’d sat down at the table. Two bandaids covered the cut on his cheek. 

Changbin turned his attention to Jeongin, and Chan had the impression of a predator zeroing in on its prey. “Does the baby need to go to bed?” he snickered. “As if you haven’t stayed out later than this before.” He looked at Hyunjin now and jerked his head towards Jeongin. “He’s such a fucking brat. He ruins everything.”

Hyunjin was quick to play along, his earlier fear of Jeongin dissipating. “Oh yeah? What did he do?”

Changbin sighed, refilling their glasses with wine. Hyunjin smiled appreciatively and Chan bristled. What the fuck was going on here? “What _didn’t_ Jeongin do?” Changbin asked, shooting his brother a derisive look. Jeongin looked ready to throw up. “He’s always been trouble. A bit of a weirdo ever since he was old enough to walk. I mean, no wonder he has no friends.”

“You know what?” Chan took one look at Jeongin’s face and pushed his chair back. “I think it is pretty late. We should—”

“He killed our parents.”

Chan froze, taken aback by this. Hyunjin looked just as shocked. And Jeongin rose from his seat, bolting for the door. Chan started to go after him, but stopped at Changbin’s next words.

“The accident was his fault. All his fault.”

_Accident…_

Chan couldn’t look at Hyunjin as he left the table.

_The accident._

_All his fault._

When he stepped out onto the lawn, he doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach. He tried so hard not to think about the accident, to push the memory of what he’d done into a corner of his mind that was so dark, he wouldn’t be able to glimpse it ever again.

He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater, and his head shot up at the sound of the driveway gate next door. Jeongin.

He went around the back, peering over the half-wall at the young man sitting on the swing, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “Hey.”

Jeongin’s body went rigid, his face masked by the night. He answered after a few seconds, his voice surprisingly steady, “What do you want?”

“What can I do to help?” Chan was open to any suggestion because he didn’t have any ideas of his own. “Your brother—”

“It’s none of your business,” Jeongin sounded offended.

“How often does it happen?” Chan pointed to his own cheek to indicate what he was talking about.

“I said it’s none of your business,” Jeongin snapped, harsher this time. “Changbin’s the only family I have. You leave him the fuck alone.”

Chan’s jaw lowered slightly, surprised that Jeongin would defend Changbin after everything. After the humiliation at dinner. But maybe he could understand. “Sometimes it’s hard to accept, but family can disappoint you. It’s because you care for them that it makes it hurt more, right?”

He watched Jeongin’s retreating back and then returned to the porch. He slumped into a wicker chair, feeling hesitant to enter his own home. Hyunjin hadn’t even come outside to check on him. He could hear them laughing. Hyunjin and Changbin. Changbin that bastard. Who did he think he was, coming into Chan’s home, flirting with his – no, wait… Sure, Hyunjin and Changbin were getting along. But Changbin hadn’t been flirting with Hyunjin. Where did Chan even get that from? His mind was a mess.

Hyunjin was the real problem here. It had always been Hyunjin who complicated things. Hyunjin who ruined things.

The door opened and both Hyunjin and Changbin stepped out onto the porch. Neither of them spared Chan a glance and his blood began to boil. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into the armrest. When their murmuring ceased, he opened his eyes, only to see Hyunjin brush his fingers over Changbin’s bicep.

Chan stormed into the house, slamming the door shut behind him. He locked himself in the bathroom, facing his reflection in the mirror. When did he become this person? Jealous, bitter, angry. How long had he been this person and why hadn’t he noticed before? Hyunjin had ruined him. He’d ruined Chan’s peace of mind, he’d ruined his self-worth. He’d made sure that Chan loathed the person who stared back at him now.

And deep down, as much as it disgusted him, Chan found pleasure in the knowledge that he’d hurt Hyunjin too, that he’d done irreparable damage. 

So they would continue this dance until one of them grew too tired. They’d continue hurting each other until they both bled out, until the last drop of blood had been spilled. 

But what awaited Chan in the bedroom was a world away from what he’d expected. He’d been expecting another argument, another night spent with their backs to each other.

Hyunjin was naked except for a shirt that hung loosely over his body. Chan noticed then that he’d made somewhat of an effort to look presentable for dinner. Two fingers scissored inside his pucker as he tried to work himself open.

He withdrew his fingers with a whine and looked at Chan with lust-laden eyes. “I need you.”

Oh. Chan hesitated. Sex between them had become just that – sex. Most of the time they couldn’t even maintain eye contact. “Are you sure?”

Hyunjin sat back, his legs spread invitingly. “I miss us, how we used to be.”

Chan couldn’t reconcile this Hyunjin with the Hyunjin who had called him a bitch at dinner. But he couldn’t deny that he missed how they used to be, even if it was impossible to go back, to regain whatever was lost. 

But Chan would try if Hyunjin was willing.

Hyunjin smashed his lips against Chan’s, claiming his mouth in a ferocious kiss. Chan reached for Hyunjin’s shirt, carefully undoing the buttons. Hyunjin wasn’t nearly as judicious, whipping Chan’s polo shirt up and over his head.

“Need you so bad,” Hyunjin groaned before pressing hot, open-mouth kisses all along Chan’s throat.

Chan pushed the last button free on Hyunjin’s shirt, then spread the fabric apart. He placed his palms on Hyunjin’s lower abdomen and slowly slid them upward until he reached his shoulders. Chan shoved the material down Hyunjin’s arms, reveling in the electricity arcing between them.

“I need you too.”

Hyunjin slid his hand into Chan’s hair, cupping the back of his head to bring his mouth closer. Their kiss was long, wet, and breathtaking. “I want to feel you inside me again,” Hyunjin whispered once they parted.

Chan ignored the frenzied need spiking in his blood in favor of tempting and teasing Hyunjin. It was a while since they’d taken things slow. They lay side by side on the bed, kissing and caressing one another as their desire built to a fevered pitch. Hyunjin took both their cocks in his large hand and stroked them together. Chan rolled and massaged Hyunjin’s balls because he knew how much the man loved it.

“Alright, playtime is over.” Hyunjin rolled to his back and spread his legs, exposing his stretched hole to Chan. 

How many times had Chan wondered whether they would ever make love again? Too many to count. Chan kissed a path down Hyunjin’s torso, stopping to lave both nipples and nip Hyunjin’s navel. Chan lapped the dripping precum from Hyunjin’s stomach before he licked and sucked Hyunjin’s cock, then his balls, and ran his tongue along his perineum. A high pitched whine left Hyunjin’s lips. Chan blew a stream of air across Hyunjin’s pucker and relished the way it quivered in response.

Hyunjin fisted his hand in Chan’s hair and lifted his head. “Fuck me.”

So much for making love. Chan nipped Hyunjin’s inner thigh and crawled up the length of his body. Lust rode him hard. Rather than position himself between Hyunjin’s thighs, Chan straddled his hips.

“You want it to be like it was before,” Chan said, dribbling lube over their cocks. He aligned their erections together, then began grinding his dick against Hyunjin’s. “We shared our first few orgasms together like this,” he said, leaning over Hyunjin.

“Until we got braver,” Hyunjin nodded, cupping Chan’s face and pulling him down for a kiss so harsh it made Chan lose his rhythm. “Now fuck me. I need your cock so bad.”

Hyunjin needed his cock. Not _him_. Well, at least Hyunjin had found his sex-drive again.

After slicking up his dick, Chan pressed the head of his erection against Hyunjin’s pucker. He pushed past the first ring of muscles and stopped to let Hyunjin adjust. “You feel so good,” he said, closing his eyes and breathing through the urge to plunge deep inside Hyunjin.

Hyunjin reached down and grabbed Chan’s ass with both hands, drawing him in deeper into his clench until his balls slapped against Hyunjin’s taut flesh. “Fuck me like you mean it.” Warmth enveloped Chan’s cock, but it paled in comparison to the disappointment pounding into chest at Hyunjin’s next words, “Fuck me because that’s all you can do for me.”

Chan’s eyes burned with tears he refused to shed. He battled through the frenetic urge to sip and savor, in favor of feasting and devouring like Hyunjin wanted. He pummelled into Hyunjin hard and fast, maintaining an unrelenting pace until Hyunjin painted his stomach with cum. Chan eased out of him, forgoing his own release.

“Chan?”

Chan looked up from where he was searching for a pair of sweats in his drawer. “What?” He frowned at the rigidness in Hyunjin’s body as he stared at something over Chan’s shoulder.

Hyunjin’s voice dropped to a whisper, “I saw something in the hallway.”

“Ah,” Chan rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not fucking drunk,” Hyunjin snapped. “I saw something.”

And because Chan could see real fear in his eyes, he stood in the doorway and looked into the hallway. They’d left the lights on, and it was clear that they were alone. “You’re drunk,” Chan repeated, shaking his head in annoyance.

“But I _did_ see something,” Hyunjin sounded offended now.

“Clean yourself up and go to sleep, Hyunjin.”

Dressed in Minho’s clothes, and with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Jisung sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. He watched the tendrils of flame eat up the wood, his chest rising and falling in harmonisation with each rattle of the window frames. The bowl of chicken soup Minho had heated for him lay untouched.

Minho sat beside him, remaining silent only as long as his patience allowed. “What’s going on, Jisung?” he asked, feeling more unnerved with each passing second. “Why are you here? How did you know how to find this place? I don’t understand any of this.”

Jisung looked at him now, his eyes haunted, his lips slightly parted. Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t understand either,” he croaked out. As if the realization jolted him awake, his eyes widened and a shaky hand reached for Minho’s shoulder. “Minho, I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know anything. I can’t _remember_ anything!”

Minho’s brows furrowed, “What do you mean? I—”

“I feel disconnected from myself,” Jisung dug his fingers into Minho’s woollen sweater. “Like my body is here, and I’m watching from above while someone down below manipulates the strings to move my limbs. And Minho, I just… I feel like I need something to ground me, to pull me back into myself.”

Minho released his sweater from Jisung’s grip and took the frightened student’s hand into his own. _Student_ . He shouldn’t be holding his student’s hand. His _student_ shouldn’t be sitting in front of his fireplace. Shit. He withdrew his hand, ignoring the flash of hurt that flickered over Jisung’s face. He took a deep breath, “Jisung, just let’s calm down and think rationally, okay?” Because Minho was an expert at displaying a calm outward appearance even when he was panicking on the inside. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” There had to be. Maybe he’d been out drinking and forgot his limit? Maybe there was an accident and he hit his head really hard? 

Jisung wasn’t convinced. He shook his head frantically, rocking forwards and backwards. “Something’s not right. Something’s not right.”

_All is not right in Sweetwater._

Minho recoiled from the thought as if he was about to touch a first edition with dirty fingers. He rose to his feet. “Why don’t you get some rest, Jisung? Sleep. Maybe when you wake up things will be a little clearer.”

He helped Jisung to his feet and ushered him to the bedroom. Jisung didn’t wait for an invitation before clambering onto the bed. Minho turned the light off and stepped back out into the hallway.

“Minho.” There was an unasked question in that word, in the desperation that edged his voice.

He looked at Jisung’s hand extended out to him, at the temptation those fingers held. How many times had those fingers opened him up? How many times had he licked cum off those fingers? How badly did he want those fingers inside him again? 

He shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Neither of them should be thinking of sex. Just a minute ago they were panicking about the gaps in Jisung’s memory. What was happening here?

“Please stay,” the words left Jisung’s lips in almost whiny plea. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Alright,” Minho relented, already regretting his decision. “We’ll just… sleep.” He lay down beside Jisung, leaving as much space between them as possible.

But Jisung had other ideas. The bed squeaked beneath their bodies as Jisung scooted closer. A palm pressed against Minho’s stomach before slipping beneath his sweater. Shit. This shouldn’t be happening. Why was he letting it happen?

It struck him then that he’d never had sex in his cabin. He usually waited until he could get out of town before he indulged himself. A hook-up or two while he was on vacation was convenient. In fact, Jisung was the only person in Sweetwater he’d ever had sex with, and that was limited to quickies in his office. This was their first time in a bed. 

Jisung began to rut, his hard length pressing through the material of his sweats, trying to find friction against Minho’s thigh. Fingers brushed over Minho’s nipples, eliciting a soft moan from his lips. The sound only encouraged Jisung. The covers fell away as he moved to kneel between Minho’s thighs. 

Minho debated the potential pitfalls of going through with this. If anyone found out… But no one would find out. They were up in the mountains. 

He reached a hand out and tapped the nightstand. “Lube. Condom.”

Minho tensed at first, his last encounter with Jisung in his office playing on his mind. He’d been so rough. Too rough. 

But it was different now. Jisung took his time, those fingers Minho had been craving stretching him open. And when Jisung pressed into him, he was gentle and patient – more than he’d ever been before.

Minho understood. Jisung needed this. The connection.

 _I feel disconnected from myself_

_I need something to ground me, to pull me back into myself_

When they finished, Jisung pressed his face into the crook of Minho’s neck. Minho’s fingers skimmed along his spine, tracing patterns into his back. When Jisung’s body began to tremble, Minho froze long enough for his surprise to register and then he continued stroking up and down Jisung’s back. Jisung had dissolved into sobs, hot tears wetting Minho’s neck.

He pulled back to look at Minho, attempting to speak through his tears. “It’s alright,” Minho soothed, reaching up to run his fingers through Jisung’s sweat-dampened hair. 

Jisung took a deep breath, his sobs fading into sniffles. “I remember going into the lake.”

Minho stared. “ _Into_ the lake?”

“Yeah,” Jisung nodded, unfiltered anguish in his glassy eyes. “I – I tried to drown myself.”

Chan woke to a scream. Hyunjin’s scream. He forced his eyes open, disoriented as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He sat up just in time to see a hooded figure flee from their bedroom. In bed beside him, Hyunjin was hysterical and Chan found himself conflicted between comforting Hyunjin and going after the intruder. 

Chan leapt out of bed and chased after the figure. Whoever this intruder was, they had no intention of harming them or they would have already. By the time Chan made it down the hallway, the front door was already slamming shut.

He stood in the doorway, scanning the yard for any sign of movement. And there, just outside the fence – how fast was this person? – the hooded intruder stood across the street. Waiting. Taunting, perhaps.

Chan crossed the yard in quick strides, eager to confront whoever this was. When the intruder reached into his pocket for something, Chan froze, suddenly afraid. 

But what the gloved hand dangled beneath a streetlight was a scrap of dark material. Lace? Was that Hyunjin’s…?

The figure turned, striding calmly down the street. Chan was so tempted to go after them, but Hyunjin… What if – oh no – what if there was someone else inside?

He rushed back inside. “Hyunjin?”

“I’m here.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and found Hyunjin standing in their bedroom, his head lowered as he dug through his drawer.

“What is it?” Chan looked over his shoulder.

“He took some of my stuff. My – my…” he whirled on Chan, shoving him back. “He took some of my fucking underwear! And I told you! I fucking told you I saw something in the hallway but you never listen to me, you bastard!” he shoved Chan again.

Chan deserved this. He should’ve listened. “I’m sorry,” he hung his head and apologised, unsure of what else to do. 

“This is your fault!” Hyunjin spat. “It’s your fault that pervert came into our home in the first place. You brought him here!”

“Who are you talking about?” Chan cocked his head to the side. “Are you saying that you know who it is? You saw his face?”

“I didn’t need to see his face to know,” Hyunjin pushed the drawer shut with such force that the vase on top crashed to the floor, shattering at their feet. “I know it was that weirdo from next door. Jeongin.”

Chan shook his head. “You’re jumping to conclusions now.”

But Hyunjin only gave him a patronizing smile. “Of course you think I’m talking bullshit. Nothing new.” He shoved a pillow into Chan’s arms. “You can sleep on the couch.”

“Hyunjin.”

“The couch. Or you can leave.”

Leave?

_I hate you, I love you, I hate you, I love you, leave, stay, leave, stay, back and forth, back and forth._

Chan was going to lose his fucking mind.

Minho didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. He didn’t know what time it was. And he didn’t know what had roused him from his slumber. He patted the space beside him and when he realized that it was empty, his eyes flew open. 

After what Jisung told him about the lake… “Shit, shit, shit,” Minho muttered as he got out of bed. If Jisung was suicidal, his sudden absence was concerning. 

“Jisung?” he called as he peered into each room. “Jisung, where are you?”

He was gone.

Minho stepped outside, the wooden stairs creaking beneath his feet. With only a t-shirt and pair of thin sweatpants to protect him from the cold, his body began to violently shiver. He stayed within the light shining from his cabin. “Jisung?” he called again, eyes squinting into the shadows. The sound of splashing water followed by a sharp cry made Minho’s stomach twist.

Forced to leave the safety of the light, he approached the rocky embankment, crouching down to peer over the edge. He could see the unmoving ribbon of the Sweetwater River. And there, submerged up to his chest in the water was Jisung.

Minho watched in paralyzed horror as Jisung brought his head down against a rock, staggering back and murmuring something unintelligible, only to do it again. “Jisung, no!” Minho cried out. “Stop!”

He couldn’t swim but the current wasn’t strong. He’d manage. He searched for a safe path down to the river, his bare feet stinging against the rough sediment. He knew he was moving too slowly. He tumbled the rest of the way down, landing painfully on his side. He crawled forward and pushed himself to his feet. 

He blanched at the blood covering Jisung’s face and waded over to him, struggling to keep afloat. Jisung looked at him as if he was a stranger. 

He backed away from Minho, still murmuring in a language Minho couldn’t understand – either that, or it was just gibberish. “Jisung, listen to me,” Minho held out a hand as if placating a scared animal. 

But Jisung turned around, wading downstream where the water was deeper and Minho knew he wouldn’t be able to follow. “Come back, _please_ ,” Minho pleaded, tempted to follow anyway.

Further down, Jisung clambered out onto the embankment where it flattened. Minho watched helplessly as the bare bodied man disappeared into the treeline where Minho had seen that face a few nights ago. He shuddered at the memory, and then again when he remembered the sketch. He looked back at the rock stained with Jisung’s blood.

_All is not right in Sweetwater._


	6. Nightmare versus Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter before things get... more awful.

Chan stood on the frayed brown doormat, shifting his briefcase to his left hand so he could retrieve the key from his pocket. With the key in the lock, he paused, wondering what kind of mood Hyunjin would be in that afternoon. He shouldn't be feeling so afraid. He shouldn’t be feeling so much of dread. But from the shitty attitude Hyunjin had displayed during dinner last night, he wasn't sure what to expect now. Hyunjin hadn't even gotten out of bed to see him off to work. 

He swallowed hard and turned the key in the lock. The door swung open and Chan walked into silence. 

Usually Hyunjin would be on the couch watching TV but today the couch was unoccupied and the TV switched off. 

Chan took off his coat and set his briefcase down on the couch. He peered into the hallway with narrowed eyes. "Hyunjin?"

He heard a muffled groan and immediately flew into a panic. With what happened last night he never should have left Hyunjin alone. What if that person came back? What if Hyunjin was hurt? What if...

He sprinted down the hallway, checking the bathroom and then the guest bedroom before he stopped outside their bedroom. He furrowed his brow when he heard a groan again. And... No.

Moans. Soft moans. The squeaking of the bedsprings. No. No this wasn't happening. No. He took a step back as if to turn and flee, but he couldn't be that much of a coward. He needed to see. He needed to know. He opened the door and braced himself.

What he saw made his blood boil, a rising wave of nausea building in his gut. His feet felt unsteady, as if the ground was slipping away from him. And yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them.

Hyunjin had his hands planted on Changbin's chest as he rode him. His eyes were closed, head thrown back as Changbin thrust up into him. 

Changbin turned his head, smiling at Chan as if he'd expected him to be there. "Hyunjin, look," Changbin dug his fingers into Hyunjin's hips. "It's your perfect little bitch."

Chan woke with a start, covered in a cold sweat and shivering to his core. He took deep gasping breaths. He rolled onto his side and groaned when his body connected with the floor. He'd forgotten that Hyunjin had kicked him out onto the couch. He rubbed his shoulder, trying to shake away the vividness of the nightmare.

Why did it feel so real? He could still smell their sweat, their cum, the scent of sex, the scent of betrayal. The nightmare had implanted itself in his brain like a memory.

When he couldn't feel his heart in his throat anymore, he pushed to his feet and padded down the hallway. He hesitated before opening their bedroom door.

Hyunjin was asleep, lanky body sprawled across the sheets, blanket thrown onto the floor. Chan picked up the blanket and placed it over him. He ran his fingers through the blonde hair fanned out over the pillow. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of his head, "I love you."

Hyunjin stirred and groaned as he blinked at Chan through the darkness. "Leave me alone," he murmured. 

Chan sighed, "Okay." Okay then.

Minho didn't know what to do. He perched at the edge of his desk, fingers anxiously drumming against the smoothed edge. He wished that there was something he could do for Jisung, something he could do to find him, to help him. 

He didn't even have a cellphone number for him, or an address. All he knew was that Jisung was from out of town. He felt some guilt at not getting to know Jisung more, but he wouldn't allow that guilt to eat at him – they'd had an arrangement for sex and that was it. And he hadn't  _ invited _ Jisung to his cabin last night. The student had shown up on his own and Minho had let him in because... Because how the hell was he supposed to turn him away?

But the worry gnawed at him. Jisung had obviously experienced some kind of mental breakdown. He'd seen students snap before – not to that extent, but he'd seen it. He knew how it ended. 

A knock sounded on the door. "Come in," Minho said. He'd been expecting Chan. It was something of a routine for them to have a chat every morning – it mostly involved mutual whining about the state of the college and its students. In his six years of working at the college, Minho had yet to develop a fondness for any of his co-workers. But Chan… He wasn’t so bad. Not bad at all.

Minho raised an eyebrow at the prominent dark circles below Chan's eyes.

Chan returned his stare, looking equally surprised, "Wow, we look terrible today, huh?"

They shared a laugh and Minho cocked his head to the side, "Rough night?"

Chan grimaced, "That's an understatement. My boyfriend and I…" He frowned and shook his head, oblivious to the surprise that flickered over Minho’s face.

He had a boyfriend, of course. Of course he did.

Chan fixed Minho with a curious stare, "What about you? Everything okay at that cabin of yours?" Chan had expressed his discontent at Minho's choice of accommodation numerous times since he found out that he lived up in the mountains. 

Minho scrunched his nose, "The cabin really isn't the problem."

Chan leaned in the doorframe, the expression on his face confirming his disagreement, "If you say so. But, you know what? I did see a few houses for rent closer to town—”

"Chan," Minho gave him a wry smile, "I'm fine." Before Chan could argue Minho swiped the folder off his desk. "The notes you needed."

"Thanks," Chan took the folder from Minho and began skimming through. "These are great."

"Sit down," Minho urged, gesturing to an armchair by the bookshelf. "We have a few minutes until the first period."

Chan gave Minho's office a sweeping look, "You know, your office is a lot bigger than mine. I guess it comes with being the Head of the Department."

Minho nodded, "But we'll swap offices when you take over from me." He'd come to terms with being demoted. There was nothing he could do about it. And Chan seemed competent anyway – he wasn’t going to run the department into the ground. He snapped out of his thoughts to find a quizzical look on Chan's face. "What?"

Chan's brows furrowed, "What do you mean by  _ take over _ from you?"

Minho slipped off the edge of his desk and folded his arms. "Don't play dumb."

"No seriously," Chan shook his head. "Explain."

Minho was confused as hell. Surely Chan knew...? It didn't make sense for him not to know.

"You're taking over from me as the Head of the English Department."

"No," Chan spoke slowly, "I'm not."

Minho frowned, "Don't be ridiculous. If you didn't want the position, why didn't you tell that to the Chancellor in the first place?"

"Because the Chancellor never mentioned the position at all!" Chan seemed completely befuddled, and Minho had to question whether he'd imagined the whole phone call from Helene.

“Look,” Minho clenched his jaw, “we need to figure this out. I—”

A loud splash and a strangled cry startled them both. Minho rushed to the window, Chan following. “What the hell…” It took Minho a few seconds to see the ripples appear on the surface of the lake, the usually still water disrupted by some kind of commotion at its center. 

Chan frowned beside him, “Is – is that a person?”

_ ‘I remember going into the lake. I – I tried to drown myself.’ _

Jisung?

When Jeongin was eleven, he pushed Changbin off the deck of their tree-house – just because he could. A thicket of bushes at the foot of the tree had shielded Changbin from the brunt of the impact, and he’d only come away with a few scrapes and bruises. But in that moment, Jeongin had felt powerful, and he’d begun to crave that feeling ever since. 

Changbin took everything quietly, and without a fuss. But there were only so many broken bones and bruises you could blame on clumsiness, and their parents eventually caught on. Not that their reprimands had stopped Jeongin. He only got worse. 

After the accident, Jeongin began to crave that feeling less and less, until it vanished completely. But maybe it had been too late.

He nursed his bandaged wrist, wondering whether this was just Changbin’s revenge for ten years of abuse. And Jeongin knew he deserved it too. In fact, if Changbin knew better, he’d have murdered Jeongin already – it’s not like anyone in town would’ve noticed his absence anyway. 

Jeongin pushed to his feet and began walking along the edge of the lake. A slight breeze drifted across the navy water, but the surface remained unmoving. The trees that stood sentinel around the lake began to rustle, almost like a wave of whispers traveling through a crowd. Usually, there would be a few others dawdling around the lake, but Jeongin seemed to be the only one skipping class. He knew it was stupid. After he’d walked out on that creepy professor, he’d only been left with one more strike. 

But he didn’t care. What’s the worst that could happen anyway? Would he get kicked out? Put on probation? None of it mattered to him.

He stood with his hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie, scuffing the damp ground with his shoe. He frowned when his sneaker made contact with something solid. He dropped to a crouch, the glimmer of something stuck in the ground catching his eye. He used a fallen twig to dig into the patch, until he recovered the object. It was a large copper coin with a simple circle carved at its centre – what did they call these? Medallions? He brushed the dirt off and was surprised to see that it still held its shine. How long had this been buried beneath the ground?

He stood up and pocketed the medallion. Finders keepers, right? 

He was about to turn away from the lake when he felt an odd thrum beneath his feet. A slow vibration had begun in the ground. He stared, not daring to move. But maybe he should have moved. He shouted in alarm when the ground gave way, crumbling beneath his feet so that he fell back into the lake. 

He hissed as the freezing water seeped through his clothes, hands of ice raking over his body. He had no idea that the lake was this deep. Only his head bobbed above the surface, surrounded by chunks of the soil he’d been standing on just a minute ago.

He started towards dry land, eager to get out of the icy lake water. But he couldn’t.

The shore was just a few feet away. But he couldn’t get there.

A strong current held him back, forming a barrier between him and the shore. But that was ridiculous. Lakes didn’t have currents. He tried to shovel through with more strength, but it was impossible. In fact, the current had begun pushing him further out. 

His eyes began to widen in panic. He could swim, but that far out? 

He attempted to swim against the current, but it only pushed him back with more force, as if it had manifested into a physical  _ thing _ . The water was up to his chin now. He had to strain his neck to keep his head above water.

It took one violent shove from the current to push Jeongin beneath the surface. He held his breath but he wouldn’t be able to for long. He tried to swim to the surface but that strange current closed in on him from all sides, pushing him towards the lake floor. He searched for something that could give him leverage.

He could see hazy shapes. Rocks, reeds, trash. When the current pushed from the left, Jeongin snapped his head in its direction, trying to find the source of it – something had to be causing it. But it was as if the current had materialized from nothing at all.

He squinted into the murky water, gaze settling on the lake floor. What he saw made him lose grasp of his surroundings. There were no less than twenty, maybe more. With their hands crossed over their chests and their eyes shut they may have been mistaken for being in a deep sleep if they weren’t at the bottom of the lake – they had to be dead. They wore billowing red robes, giving the impression of ribbons of blood flowing through the water. Their bodies weren’t visible from the waist down – they were covered in heaps of the same medallions, just like the one that Jeongin had found on the shore. 

Unable to contain his shock, he gasped, gulping down the lake water and surrendering the oxygen he’d been holding on to. He could feel the water enter his body, choking the air out of him. Breathe. He needed to breathe. But he couldn’t.

He was sinking, an invisible force pushing him down towards the bodies lying across the floor of the lake.

This was a nightmare. It had to be.

Minho parted Jeongin’s lips, breathing air into his lungs while Chan pumped his chest. When the young man began to stir, he felt a surge of relief and then a flash of embarrassment. 

When Minho had realized that the limp figure Chan was dragging out of the lake was Jeongin, he’d flown into a panic, and Chan – to his credit – had spent a considerable amount of time trying to take care of both Jeongin  _ and _ Minho. When Minho had regained enough sense to calm himself, he’d been able to help Chan out.

Jeongin stared up at him with a mixture of confusion and fear. Minho placed a hand on his cheek, “Hey, you gave me quite a scare.” Jeongin sat up, his lips curving slightly, but Minho didn’t miss the haunted look in his eyes. “What happened to you?”

With a groan, Jeongin sat up, breathing heavily. He stared past Minho, gaze fixed on the lake. “Nothing.”

“Hey,” Minho frowned, “Jeongin, don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Lie.”

When Chan loudly cleared his throat, Minho flinched away from Jeongin, a flush creeping up his neck. Shit.

“So what happened?” Chan questioned. Like Jeongin, he was drenched from head to toe.

Minho rose to his feet, “Hold on. Let’s go back up to my office. I don’t want either of you dying from hypothermia.”

Minho turned the heater on and headed straight for the cupboard in the corner of his office. He threw the door open and began to rummage until he found an old hoodie and a woolen sweater. “You both obviously need to go home. This is the best I can do for now.”

“Thanks,” Chan took the hoodie, slipping it over his wet shirt. 

Minho was surprised to see Jeongin still lingering in the doorway. “You can come in.”

“Uh…”

But he understood Jeongin’s hesitancy. The last time Jeongin had visited Minho’s office, he’d left it in quite a state. 

“Really, come in,” Minho insisted. “Warm yourself up by the heater.” He held out the sweater, “And tell us what the hell you were doing in the lake.”

Jeongin reluctantly slipped on the sweater, hugging his arms around himself. “I was just… I fell in.”

“And ended up in the middle of the lake?” Chan crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes widened slightly, and his voice grew tender, “Jeongin were you deliberately trying to—”

“I wasn’t!” Jeongin said quickly, a look of alarm on his face.

Minho reeled at what Chan had implied. Why would Jeongin want to – to drown himself? 

_ ‘I remember going into the lake… I tried to drown myself.’ _

Jeongin, probably noting the stricken expression on Minho’s face, said again, “I swear I wasn’t. I just fell in. And…” he hesitated. “This is going to sound like a lie. But there was a – a current in the lake.”

“A current? In the lake?” Chan raised a brow, skeptical. “Jeongin, come on. I can help you—”

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” Jeongin laughed drily and crossed to the door. “And for the last time,” he looked back at Chan, his jaw clenched, “I’m not fucking suicidal.”

Minho shot Chan an annoyed look. That was  _ not _ how you dealt with Jeongin. He rushed after the student, cornering him in the hallway.

“What do you want?”

Minho pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn’t know what he wanted. Did he really believe Jeongin’s story? 

_ ‘I remember going into the lake… I tried to drown myself.’ _

“Have you heard from Jisung lately?” Minho saw Jeongin’s body go rigid, his fingers clenched into fists at his side. “I just meant,” Minho struggled to clarify what he’d meant, “that he also – the lake – he was – Jeongin wait.”

Jeongin was already walking away from him. “If I see Jisung around town,” the student said without looking back, “I’ll let him know that you want to get into his pants again.”

Minho cringed and turned away. He’d spent –  _ wasted _ – enough time trying to help that ungrateful brat. He couldn’t go through that again with Jeongin. If the young man wanted to suffer alone then he could. 

He returned to his office to find Chan staring at his phone, shaking his head in stunned disbelief. “I have a strike for not turning up for my lesson.”

Minho groaned. He probably had one too then. And it would be his third strike. The last strike. With reluctance, he opened up his inbox on his computer. This time the email had no snarky, crude remarks.

_ Dear Valued Staff Member, _

_ In failing to perform your duties, you have received your third and final strike. Please report to the security office immediately. Your schedule for the rest of the day will be taken care of. _

_ Strikes remaining: 0 _

_ Please note that strikes will reset after disciplinary action has been carried out. _

_ Seungmin Kim _

_ Chancellor of Sweetwater Community College _

Minho sighed, “I just received my third strike.”

“And what does that mean?” Chan’s eyes widened. “Do you have to see the Chancellor?”

Minho considered him with a frown, “I think so. He said to report to the security office. I guess he’ll meet me there?” Although Minho couldn’t understand the need to visit the security office. It was on the other side of the campus. Hardly anyone passed through there. “I feel like a kid on my way to the principal’s office.”

Chan huffed out a laugh and then his expression grew serious, “If I didn’t have to go home to change, I would’ve gone with you. Maybe we could’ve explained why we ditched the first lesson today. And sort out the department head mess too.”

Minho thought back to when he last visited the Chancellor’s office. Although, he hadn’t quite gotten there, had he? He remembered the dark, narrowing hallway. And – and something else that had faded out of his memory like the remnants of a dream. Something scary. He was sure of that. He’d seen something so terrifying that he’d passed out in his office afterwards.

“Yeah, that would’ve been… nice,” Minho nodded. Not just because he wanted to get out of whatever disciplinary action the Chancellor had in mind, but because he really didn’t want to be alone with that man. 

“Tell you what,” Chan looked down at the watch strapped to his wrist. “I’m free until after lunch. I’ll go home, get some dry clothes on and then I’ll meet you back here so we can schedule a meeting with the Chancellor together.”

Minho shrugged. The thought of seeing the Chancellor twice in one day didn’t sit too well with him, but if it was necessary… “Sure.”

Chan stood on the frayed brown doormat, shifting his briefcase to his left hand so he could retrieve the key from his pocket. With the key in the lock, he paused, wondering what kind of mood Hyunjin would be in that afternoon.

His brows furrowed and he wrenched the key out of the lock again. This was familiar. Too familiar. An exact replay of the nightmare he’d had that morning. 

His heart began to thunder against his chest, a roaring sound filling his ears until he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened his eyes again, there was some clarity.

This wasn’t a nightmare. This was reality. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be fine when he walked in.

He willed himself to insert the key into the lock again, feeling his chest squeeze tighter with every turn of the key. When he pushed the door open, he was greeted with silence.

Just like in his nightmare.

No. No this was reality. And Hyunjin was probably just having a nap in their bedroom. That’s all.

He turned on the spot, surveying the empty living room. Unlike every other day, it was clean. It  _ smelled _ clean. There was nothing out of place. No magazines strewn on the coffee table, no dirty clothes lying around. The unpacked boxes they’d left stacked in the corner weren’t there anymore.

Chan started towards the hallway, aware of the echoes of his footsteps reinforcing the silence. He took a few steps, afraid of going any further. “Hyunjin? Hyunjin are you home?”

“Hi.”

Chan nearly jumped out of his skin when Hyunjin appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Didn’t expect you home so early and – oh, Chan, what happened to you?” Hyunjin stared at him, taken aback by his sodden appearance. 

But Chan was just as stunned by Hyunjin’s appearance.

Hyunjin’s hair was neatly brushed and… did he touch up his roots? It had been ages since Chan saw him with makeup – eyeliner, pink eyeshadow, red tint on his lips… And he wasn’t dressed in old slacks and a t-shirt. He had on a sleek pair of jeans and an artfully half-tucked in white shirt. 

“Did you – did you go out today?” Chan asked, jaw hanging.

Hyunjin gave him a secretive smile and nodded. “Just to the hairdresser.”

“Why?” 

He didn’t mean to ask that question. It just… slipped. He should have been  _ happy _ . Hyunjin was being himself again. He could see by the change in Hyunjin’s expression that it was the wrong thing to have asked. Chan could’ve kicked himself. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I’ll ask your permission next time,” Hyunjin pushed past him, his boots clacking against the floorboards as he headed for their bedroom. 

Chan sighed and leaned in the kitchen doorway, catching sight of the two mugs on the counter. Two. 

No. It didn’t mean anything. Did it? No, of course it didn’t.

This wasn’t his nightmare. This was reality.

But maybe reality was worse. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 💗  
> Twitter   
> CuriousCat


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